


The Silver Ring, A Most Curious Tale In Six Parts

by cormallen



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-23
Updated: 2010-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-06 15:20:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cormallen/pseuds/cormallen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone knows that nothing ever happens in quaint, sleepy New Exeter, but to hear Jared Padalecki tell it, the town's rife with adventure, from a fairy princess searching for her true love to neighboring mice redrawing the borders and engaging in mortal combat. Of course, everyone, from his parents to the mayor, also knows that Jared's been making up stories ever since he learned his ABCs, and his friends, the eccentric owners of The Amber Moon Magic Shoppe, only encourage him. So when Sandy and Jeff give Jared a magic ring, it doesn't mean an enchanted prince will be arriving to claim it. Or does it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Silver Ring, A Most Curious Tale In Six Parts

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Big Bang 2009. Like a number of fairy tales, can be seen as having some consent issues.
> 
> This story wouldn't exist if not for mickeym, nu_breed and rejeneration. Thank you for the inspiration, the patience, the previewing and the betas. Thank you for being there and for helping me pull it all together page after page after page.

**Chapter the First, wherein Jared dreams, the Narrator reminisces, The Amber Moon comes to New Exeter, and the mice from the Williamses' basement declare war on the mice from under the Padaleckis' front porch.**

The story went like this: Jared was dreaming. He had to be. There was no other explanation for the soft, warm mouth trailing quick, testing kisses over his shoulder, his throat, his cheek. The guy's hands, long nervous fingers petting over his chest, his belly; light, almost ticklish. Vivid enough to make him doubt just for a moment, _asleep or awake_, _real or not_, until dream guy leaned in, nipped at his neck, light and teasing.

"I'm dreaming," Jared whispered, floating, delirious, unable to tell up from down, and dream guy smiled, freckles dancing in the crinkles of his eyes.

But that's not how it started. Maybe it started with the fight he had with Chad, slammed doors and _fuck you_s and _don't bother calling_s yelled down the stairs of his apartment. Or maybe even before that, before he ever dated Chad at all, before he lived in the apartment on Harker Road. Maybe, like so many stories, it was always meant to happen, written down in a big leather bound tome long before Jared had even learned to read. Or maybe it would've never happened at all if Jeff and Sandy hadn't moved into town, with their boxes of books and dragon's blood inks and beaded curtains fringed over the doors.

Yeah, that sounds about right. It all started at their little shop, right off the corner of Main and Summer Street. It's real easy to get to; just turn onto East Pine, go through two lights and it'll be right there on your left. Red brick building, big blue sign, smiling yellow moon and stars, can't miss it. Jeff flips the CLOSED sign and unlocks the door every day at around eleven, or Sandy does, if Jeff's still out back unpacking boxes or taking out the trash. Sometimes Jared will do it, even though he doesn't work at The Amber Moon. Hasn't in years, not officially, anyway, but he still helps Jeff do inventory sometimes, brings Sandy her favorite Espresso Truffles in recyclable paper cups.

Sandy's been at The Amber Moon since it first opened, back when Jared was still in high school and walking home every day down Main and past the Summer Street Bakery, Off The Grid Comics and the Dollar Emporium on East Pine. One sunny Tuesday in May, the Dollar Emporium sign was gone and Sandy was helping Jeff move in boxes and shelves, an old fashioned clanking register with a missing eight key and an overstuffed armchair covered in blue and cream chintz.

"Well, don't just stand there gawking. Come over here and help me get this through the door," she told Jared, and he walked up, blushing, trying not to stare too obviously at the rolled up tasseled rugs leaned up against Jeff's old black truck, the tattooed bracelets banding Jeff's arms from wrist to elbow. He helped Sandy heft the armchair into the shop, and gave up all pretenses at subtlety at the sight of the massive cauldron sitting in the corner and the glimmering pile of quartz crystals spread over the back counter.

"Just what kind of store is this gonna be?" he asked Sandy after bringing in three boxes labeled _grimoires_. She grinned at him, flash of white teeth and pink tongue, pushed her hair back from her sweaty face. Her copper earrings jingled.

"Magic," she said. "Just ask Jeff."

"Ask me what?" Jeff said, throwing on a leather jacket over his black tee. "Hey, kid, that bakery around the corner any good? I think we deserve a treat after all that effort."

"Oh, uh. Yeah. They have this honey bread; my mama loves it. And their bear claws are awesome."

Jared watched Jeff come back around the corner, thick copper ring with a small black stone glinting on his left hand as he balanced a pastry bag and tray of coffees. There were more rings on his right, a thick thumb band with a grinning yellow skull, another one on his middle finger, malachite crudely hammered into a massive silver setting. He didn't look like a wizard, not with the dark edges of a tattoo still peeking out from under his sleeve. A musician, maybe, or one of the guys doing poetry readings at The Beat on Friday nights, pale wisps of smoke from their abandoned cigarettes curling through the air.

"Here you go. One bear claw for you, and for you," Jeff offered, peeling back the crinkling paper. "I didn't know if you wanted a coffee, but the girl in there assured me that there hasn't been a human born who doesn't like their Truffles, whatever they are. So I got three."

"They're hot chocolate, with a shot of espresso," Jared explained, accepting the cup and the pastry. "They're really good. Thanks."

"Nah, thank you for helping out, kid. Least I could do. I'm opening by next Monday. You're welcome to stop in any time."

"Magic, huh," Jared grinned, finishing his Truffle. "Yeah. I'll definitely be coming around."

His mama hadn't been too happy when he got home three hours later than he should have. "I've reheated dinner twice," she told him, ladling mashed potatoes and gravy into a ceramic bowl. "The salad is wilting. Where were you?"

"I'm not really all that hungry," Jared explained, throwing his book bag under the table. "I was helping open a magic shop. This guy, he bought the Dollar Emporium building – he's moving in all kinds of stuff, there's a cauldron, and all these books, and – what?"

Jared's mama shook her head.

"That's... really interesting, sweetheart," she said with a pained expression, carefully searching for words. "But I really wish you'd stop making up stories like that."

"I didn't make it up," Jared mumbled, surly, poking his fork into the cooling potato glop in his bowl. But he could tell his mama didn't believe him.

"Oh, Jared," she said with a thick sigh, and patted his head, threading her fingers through his too-long hair. "What am I going to do with you?"

You can't really blame Jared's mama for not believing there was a magic shop opening up over on East Pine. These days, it doesn't sound so out of place, Tarot readings and moonstone jewelry, lonely guitar whispering softly through the speakers. Fragrant incense in cones and sticks, little brass burners and wax candles in every color of the rainbow. New Age Curiosities and Souvenirs listing in the phone book, beaded curtains and dragon decals on the front windows. But ten years ago, The Amber Moon was the only one of its kind in New Exeter, and it sounded a lot more like something out of one of Jared's stories than anything really in place right off of their own Main Street, as far as Jared's mama was concerned.

Stories came to Jared as easy as breathing, from the very first day he learned to talk, although Jared's daddy often said he must have already been full to the brim with them beforehand. He just didn't have the words to tell them yet. In fact, he would joke, Jared's first words hadn't been _mama_ or _dada_, or any similar babble, like most children's, but _once upon a time, in a land far, far away_, and _they lived happily ever after_.

Jared's mother only frowned.

"His new jeans are already all muddied up. I don't know why we bother paying that sitter. Jared, what on earth have you been doing?"

"Helping the Mouse King," Jared answered, pushing overgrown bangs away from his forehead, sticky fingers leaving behind smudges of dirt.

"The mice have a king?"

"Well, he's not king of all mice. Just the ones who live under our porch. The mice that live in Mrs. Hancock's shed have their own king, and the mice from the Williamses' basement are a constitutional democracy. I don't know what that means. It's just what they told me."

Jared's father peered at him over the top of his newspaper, but didn't say anything.

"They declared a war on our mice, and I couldn't just let them fight alone. They're our mice! I had to help them dig trenches!"

"Mice. War! Trenches, Gerald. Under our porch!" Jared's mother sighed later, wringing her hands in exasperation.

"He'll grow out of it," Jared's father said sagely, going back to his copy of the Thursday Gazette. "He's going to go to school and meet other children with stories of their own, and the teachers will have plenty of things for him to occupy his mind with. He'll grow out of it, you'll see."

Jared hadn't grown out of it by the first grade, or the third, or the fifth.

"He was late again last week," Miss Bishop complained to Mr. and Mrs. Padalecki during the parent-teacher conference. "I asked him why, and do you know what he told me? He told me that he left for the bus stop on time, but halfway there, he had to stop and help an enchanted princess with her quest to find three golden apples and her true love."

"He's supposed to live in a white house with a red door," Jared interrupted, fiddling with the zipper of his jacket. "There are six of those just on School Street. And we haven't even started looking anywhere else yet."

"Jared is obviously a very gifted boy," said Mrs. Kearney, fixing the Padaleckis with a stern gaze through her tortoise-shell rimmed glasses. "He needs more creative outlets. I would suggest advanced English classes next year, maybe a Drama or a Creative Writing elective. Of course, he'll need to bring up his current English grade up from a D minus before I can approve the schedule."

Naturally, you can see why Mrs. Padalecki wouldn't believe that Amber Moon was a real place, not until Jared showed her the brick building and the bright blue sign with smiling yellow stars and a fat grinning moon on the way to the Summer Street Bakery.

"Jeff offered me some hours during the week. Under the table, but it would be over a dollar more than minimum wage," he explained, picking up the fresh loaves of honey bread while his mother counted out the change. "It'd be awesome to have my own car by the time I graduate."

"It seems like a nice enough place," Jared's mother allowed. "That girl, Sandy, she seems very pretty – friendly, I mean. Friendly."

"Yeah, mama. She is. Real friendly," Jared smiled, and that was that.

Mrs. Padalecki was correct on both counts, of course. Sandy always had a friendly smile for every shop visitor, even the ones who browsed the shelves and left without buying a single dragon-shaped pin. She was also quite pretty.

"Too pretty to work in a magic shop," Jared would always say, handing over her large Espresso Truffle. "Everyone knows witches have green skin and warts on their noses. You've got a real clever disguise going, but you're not fooling me, missy. I see right through you."

He didn't, though; not back then, and not now. That was just another one of his stories, just like the one about the three golden apples the enchanted princess was supposed to give her true love.

"It's Mike, by the way," Jared told Sandy once, in the middle of sweeping the back counter with a feather duster. "Her true love, I mean."

The old, worn-out duster was shedding striped and spotted chicken feathers behind him in a little trail, so Sandy followed him with a dustpan.

"As in _Mike_, Mike?" she asked. "The bald guy from Off The Grid Comics?"

"Yeah. Only, he'll never know, because he hates apples. When he was just a little kid, he got lost on the field trip to the cider mill. It was days before anyone found him. He had to eat nothing but apples the entire time, Gala, Jonathan and Golden Delicious. He's hated them ever since. So, there's no way he would just take three of them from a stranger."

Sandy stopped, hands full of feathers poised over the dustpan.

"So she's not ever going to find him? That's a really sad story, Jay."

"Sorry. You want me to stop? Here, give me those, Im'a put them in the trash. This duster's useless. I told Jeff to buy a Swiffer mop; those are way more efficient."

"No, I don't want you to stop. I like your stories. They remind me of my brother, sometimes. It's just kind of – depressing, isn't it? That they never find each other?"

"I didn't say they never find each other," Jared grinned, tying up the trash bag. "Just because Mike never catches on that she used to be enchanted doesn't mean they can't have a happily ever after. Next week, the princess is going to figure out she really likes Green Lantern comics, and the week after, Mike's gonna ask her on a date. No golden apples necessary. They're just not quite there yet."

"Who's not there yet?" Jeff boomed from the back room. "All of my employees are right where they should be, except for some reason, they're not working, just telling each other tall tales."

"Yeah, yeah, we're the laziest workers you've ever had, slower than tortoises and less efficient than sloths. Serves you right for not putting a help wanted ad in the paper," Sandy yelled back, and Jared giggled.

"Is it weird? Working for your boyfriend?" he asked Sandy when Jeff left for the evening.

Sandy shook her head, heavy copper earrings jingling. Little black stones dangled from the copper loops, Jared noticed, glints of reflected light making them look like they were winking at him.

"He's not my, uh... yeah. Jeff and I, it's. It's complicated," she said finally, same thing Jeff told him the next day.

"Sandy and I, it's... kind of complicated. She, uh –"

"Say no more," Jared nodded, cracking open one of the boxes from that week's shipment. He'd never been a judgmental guy, wasn't about to start being one now. So what if Sandy went on dates some nights, with guys who weren't Jeff, guys who did poetry readings at The Beat or at the student union at New Exeter College. And so what if some days Jeff would come in late, faint scents of perfume still clinging to his hair and clothes, and take hushed personal calls in the back. Complicated seemed to work for them, however it went, no golden apples necessary. And maybe it wasn't perfect, but Jared saw the way Jeff looked at Sandy sometimes, like she was the sun, and Sandy looked back at Jeff like she'd starve without him. Jared would've counted himself lucky to have something as good someday, if not exactly identical; by his senior year of high school he'd figured out that fairest in the land or not, enchanted princesses weren't to his liking. Enchanted princes, however, were a whole other story, not that they were a common New Exeter staple. In fact, by the time he graduated New Exeter High and got accepted to New Exeter College, Jared had yet to meet one. There was Chad, of course, but he was more stable boy than prince.

"Or, no, not a stable boy. More like an imp. Or, actually, no, not an imp, either. Chad is more like a troll. You know, one of those under-the-bridge types. The kind you can't just pass by, so you have to stop and get involved. But then, before you know it, you end up with your fridge emptied out and a billy goat gruff in the middle of your living room, gnawing on your last clean shirt."

"The goat thing is a metaphor, right?" Jeff asked, totaling up the day's sales slips. "Right? Please tell me you're not dating a goat-napper."

"Oh, so the goat has to be a metaphor, but the troll part's just fine and dandy?"

"Well, Jared, if there are indeed trolls out there, statistics would suggest that somebody has to be dating one. And right now, that somebody is you," Jeff nodded smartly and fed more tape into the adding machine. "If you like him, and he likes you back – why the hell not?"

"Yeah," Jared considered, locking up the cash drawer. "Yeah, I like him."

Jared's mother did not like Chad one bit, but Jared didn't want to hear it.

"Is it because he's a _he_?" he asked in the middle of Sunday dinner, and clanged the salad fork against his plate.

"JT, honey, you know that's not it," Mrs. Padalecki attempted, but Jared put down his napkin and refused to stay for dessert.

"I'm an adult, mama. I'm about to graduate from college! I don't need anyone telling me who I can and can't date."

He didn't mean to slam the door on the way out, feeling bad enough about raising his voice to his mama in the first place, but a gust of wind smacked the door handle right out of his grip. It was always awfully windy in New Exeter in the springtime, and cold enough that most townspeople called it _Yep, It's Still Winter_ instead of March, April and May.

From the bedroom window, Mrs. Padalecki watched her son fold himself into his car, a rattling little Honda he'd bought a month into starting an archaeology major at New Exeter College. Earnings from the Amber Moon had paid for half; he'd covered the rest with his graduation gifts and a full month of babysitting for his little cousins. The infamous Chad, unaware of all the discord he had caused, albeit inadvertently, was waiting for Jared at the apartment they shared on Harker Road, right across from a Shell station and Suds Bucket, a supposedly twenty-four hour laundromat that nevertheless closed every night at eleven.

"He's such a special boy, Gerry," Mrs. Padalecki complained, closing the curtain and fluffing her pillow. "Our special boy. I just don't think he knows what's right for him."

"He'll grow out of it," Mr. Padalecki sighed, pushing his reading glasses further up his nose. "You worry too much. What's a ten letter word for _deception_? _S, blank, blank, blank, e, blank, blank, blank, blank, e_."

"I don't know," Mrs. Padalecki said snappishly, and turned off the lamp on her side of the bed.

"Six letter word for _cold_," Mr. Padalecki said, undaunted. "First one's F. Boy, it sure does get cold in here, doesn't it, Sherri? It's the middle of May, for crying out loud. You'd think it was Still Winter, or Almost Winter, not practically the beginning of Mud Season. Maybe it's time we sold the house and moved down to Florida."

Mr. Padalecki said _Florida_ like most people said _God_, and almost as reverently as Sandy said _Espresso Truffle_.

"Just think about it," he said, folding up the Sunday Globe and putting his glasses into the bedside drawer. "Sunny temperatures year round. A condo in a beachfront community. Never having to mow the lawn again."

"You like mowing the lawn," Mrs. Padalecki mumbled sleepily, pulling the blankets up to her chin.

"Flip-flops and shorts," Mr. Padalecki countered, yanking the quilt in his own direction.

"Sunscreen," Mrs. Padalecki replied in a tone that made it clear she'd said it before, and quite probably a lot more than once. "Floods, tropical storms and hurricanes. Why settle for Florida? Why not Hawaii, or Aruba," she said, and yawned.

"Why not, indeed," Mr. Padalecki retorted, and got up to turn up the thermostat.

In fact, the Padaleckis did end up selling the house and moving down to Punta Gorda later on, a few months after Jared had gotten the job at the New Exeter Historical Society, but it wouldn't do to get too far ahead of ourselves.

  
**Chapter the Second, wherein Jared makes changes, Chad moves out of the apartment on Harker Road, Sandy comes bearing gifts and Jeff brings promises of snow.**

"Quaint, sleepy or charming?" intern Katie asked, waving a notepad in Jared's face.

"What?"

"Are we quaint, sleepy, or charming?" she repeated, and sat down in the chair across from Jared's desk. "In your estimation."

"Well... I don't think Sophia's been awake since the coffee maker broke down last week. I'm clearly the charming one. You're – well, you have to be at least a little quaint to intern at the New Exeter Historical Society, but you're also kind of grumpy. Especially when you have to interview residents to get quotes for the exhibitions. Or maybe surly. Yeah, surly works."

"Not us. The town, you doofus," Katie sighed. "You know, for the historical landmarks postcards. With the new town motto… Is any of that ringing a bell? What do you think of _New Exeter, the City of Village Charm_?"

"That's Manchester," Jared said, digging in his desk drawer for a packet of gummi bears he could have sworn he hadn't finished yet.

"Says who? Their historical society? I say we go down there and give them what for. We could totally take them. Or, well, _you_ could totally take them," Katie amended, setting down her pencil. "I'd totally cheer for you, though, Mr. Education Coordinator. Manchester's what, a two-hour drive? Go. Educate and coordinate."

"Yeah, I don't think I'll be doing that," Jared said, opening up the other drawer. There were no gummi bears in there, either, only a pad of pink post-it-notes, an old address book and a handful of paperclips. "Also, it's not nice to call your boss a doofus. I pay your –"

"You do _not_ pay me. You shamelessly exploit my time, my health and my youth, all because I need senior internship credits and my semester grade depends on your review. So, fine, you're excluded from the doofus category." She leaned over the desk and pulled a bright red paperclip out of the drawer. "What are you looking for in there?"

"My gummi bears. I thought there was still another bag in here somewhere."

"Oh, Sophia ate them yesterday," Katie said airily. "She said if you weren't springing for a new caffeine dispenser, the least you could do was donate your sugar to her cause."

"Or she could just get her coffee and her sugar at Starbucks, like the rest of us," Jared sighed, shutting the drawer. "Man, I miss the Summer Street Bakery. They had the best eclairs. Really good coffee, too. Starbucks does an Espresso Truffle, but it just doesn't taste the same."

"Well, I like it fine," Katie said, and picked up her pencil. "So. Charming, quaint, or sleepy?"

Of course, anyone who knew his or her way around New Exeter could probably answer the question well enough, although the town's certainly lost a bit of its charm since the Summer Street Bakery closed down. Jared was far from the only one who missed its Truffles, bear claws and honey bread. Come to think of it, the only people who didn't care one way or the other were Mr. and Mrs. Padalecki, who had found a lovely bakery only a few streets over from their new beachfront community and switched from honey bread to orange tarts and banana fritters.

"Of course, we hardly have time for coffee or fritters," Jared's mother told him on the phone, "Not since we've taken up fishing. Of course, your father, the big softie, always wants to let the fish go. I think a nice fisherman's stew or a bouillabaisse is a much tastier solution."

Jared didn't choose sides. He preferred chicken to fish and steak to chicken and thought that watching a bobber for hours seemed rather tedious, so he wished his parents luck and informed them he had plenty of work to catch up on.

"At the historical society?" Mr. Padalecki said, not convinced. "Son, are you trying to tell me New Exeter suddenly developed some animating history in the time since we moved to greener pastures?

"Oh, let him be, Gerald," Mrs. Padalecki said, after they'd hung up the phone. "It may not be the most exciting job in the world, but he seems to like it just fine. And, well, who knows; he might still grow out of it."

Jared had started at the New Exeter Historical Society as an intern his third year of college, wrangling other interns and filing paperwork, and never left, going from School Programs Assistant to Education Services Coordinator. That mostly involved handling the interns and signing paperwork.

"You know I like my job, but I gotta admit, it feels a little... circular," he told Chad over beers and hot wings in their living room, Celtics losing in overtime on the flat screen TV. "All I did as an intern was file paperwork, and it's pretty much what I do now. It's like I haven't really made any progress at all, even though I know have."

"It may be the same paperwork, but at least you get paid now," Chad shrugged, wiping buffalo sauce from his fingers. "Could be worse. You could still be working at that weird-ass New Age place. _Shoplifters will be cursed_? Who the fuck buys into that?"

"I do," Jared said, and changed the channel to Comedy Central.

"Dude, how many people do you know who've actually been cursed?"

"Sometimes I think Sandy is," Jared said thoughtfully, watching an animated hot dog dance around on the screen. "When she was just a kid, their house burned down. And then, a couple of years later, her whole family died in a freak accident. It's just her and her brother now, and from what she's said, I don't think he's been really OK since then, either."

"You haven't met the guy?"

"No. I'm not sure if he even lives around here. Sandy doesn't talk about him much. Only when she's upset, usually. She said once I reminded her of him."

"That's a fucking flattering comparison. Not!" Chad humphed, picked up the clicker and changed the channel back to the game. The Celtics were still losing, 103 to 118. "You remind her of her brother, who she doesn't like to talk about unless she's in a pissy mood, and who got fucked up after some kind of freak accident, like Two Face or Jigsaw? Like I said, you should be damn thankful you don't work there anymore."

"I'm pretty sure Sandy's brother is not a DC supervillain. Also, fuck you," Jared muttered, and looked down at his feet. He needed new socks; the ones he was wearing had holes on the big toes and pink stains, courtesy of Chad's bright red bandana's accidental stay in Jared's laundry basket. They didn't usually share spin cycles; they didn't even share rooms, even though they'd lived together since freshman year. They'd gotten used to their ratty two-bedroom on Harker Road, and Chad insisted that the separate beds meant variety.

"Just means we can change it up, Jay. You know, your place tonight, my place tomorrow. Plus, dude, no offense, but you snore."

"You do, too," Jared protested, and Chad nodded.

"I have a deviated septum. You're lucky all I do is snore."

"Yeah, real lucky," Jared muttered just in time with the buzzer, the Bulls victorious.

"What?" Chad asked, turning off the TV. "You pissed at me, man? Cause I said that shit about the store? Come on, don't be that way. Come here."

Jared thought about it some more while Chad undid his zipper, reached into his shorts with hot, sticky fingers.

"Yeah, just like that," he mumbled, tugging at Chad's belt, pulling up his shirt, itchy waffle print under his hands.

Chad's mouth tasted like hot sauce and Corona and garlic, but Jared was sure his own breath was no better, and it felt good, anyway, jerking each other off on the plaid couch they've had since the dorms.

He kept thinking about it afterwards, watching Chad clean up with his crumpled up t-shirt, finally coming to the conclusion that Chad hadn't made much in the way of progress, either. In fact, Jared was pretty sure that being promoted twice put him ahead of Chad by a pretty wide margin.

Chad was also still working at the same job he'd started when they'd been college juniors, serving drinks at Eight Ball, the billiards bar Jared's mama said was on the wrong side of the tracks.

"Your mother says that about everything. Eight Ball's totally not on the wrong side, dickhead," Chad countered sulkily, zipping up his jeans. "Just because there are train tracks, doesn't mean one side automatically gotta be wrong. And maybe _her house_ is on the wrong side, you ever think about that?"

"No, Chad, I'm pretty sure I never thought about that," Jared sighed. To be fair, Eight Ball _was_ a little on the shifty side, if sides were what one went by. Or, if one judged by the by the bar patrons, _dodgy_, _creepy_ and sometimes, even _sleazy_ also came to mind.

Chad got defensive. "Don't knock the creeps, man. They're good tippers. What do you think pays half the rent on this place?"

"I do," Jared said. "You still owe me for February, and last December."

"December, too? Are you sure? I thought I covered that in March. Huh. Fine, I'll pay it back out of next week's paycheck," Chad promised. "But seriously, if you'd quit obsessing over railroads, you could give that coffee place next door to the bar a try. I know, I know, nothing beats the late, great Summer Street Bakery, but The Coffee Beanery is pretty decent."

"Is that what they're going by this time? The Coffee Beanery? Lame. Very lame. At least Brewed Awakening had character."

The Coffee Beanery was a tiny shop on North Summit, squashed in between Eight Ball and the Anaconda Tattoo Parlor. It had been closed and re-opened under new management at least six times, as far as Jared remembered, once as Birds And Books And Java, once as The Jitter Bean, twice as Brewed Awakening, and once, for a memorable couple of weeks the previous year, as Brews Brothers. Jared had never gone in, not even when he had the time, what with pacing the sidewalk out front, waiting for Chad to get off-shift. But he liked to think that the coffee shop just got tired of the snow sometimes, packed up and went somewhere warm and sunny for a while. Came back with a new tan and vacation pictures.

"Yeah, maybe I'll give it a shot tomorrow," Jared relented with a yawn. "I'm beat," he complained, leaning his head onto Chad's shoulder.

"Me, too," Chad nodded. "Get off me, man, I'm gonna turn in. See you in the morning," he said, and disappeared into his bedroom. Yawning again, Jared went to his own.

Maybe Jared would have gone to The Coffee Beanery the next day, or maybe he wouldn't have; who knows. Maybe he would have just gotten an Espresso Truffle at Starbucks after breakfast, as usual. Whatever his plans for the day had been, the screaming match with Chad put a big black 'X' through all of them. After Chad threw his shirts and socks into a large duffle and slammed both the upstairs and downstairs doors, Jared sat on his couch for a while and stared at the wall. There was a small crack running from the kitchen doorjamb to the ceiling, branching off into even tinier cracks when it reached the circuit breaker box. Sometimes, when Jared glanced at it on the way between living room and kitchen, it looked like a river, trapped and diverted by a massive dam, making him wonder what would happen when it finally flooded. Try as he might, that morning it just looked like a crack in the drywall, desperately in need of spackling and a fresh coat of paint.

Late in the afternoon, Jared gave up staring and walked down to Amber Moon, instead. Sandy was wiping down the counter, lifting up the basket of hematite beads and the amethyst pendant display, folding the accordion standee with the sterling silver jewelry.

"I broke up with Chad," Jared told her miserably, climbing into the cream and blue chintz armchair, feet and all, and she cursed, dropping a box of rings.

"Jesus, Jared. What happened?"

_I was an idiot, and he was an asshole; that's what happened_, Jared thought, viciously pulling a stray thread out of his shirt cuff.

"Would you believe me if I told you he had a revelation on his last shift at Eight Ball?"

"No," Sandy said unequivocally, sitting down cross-legged across from him. Her earrings jingled softly when she shook her head. "But feel free to tell me about it, anyway."

"Well, it's kind of amazing, actually. He'd just carded this kid – must've been eighteen, tops, nervous as hell – and you know how they have the three strikes and you're out policy over there, and Chad's on his second already. So he's got the kid's ID in hand and is flipping through the book to find out what an actual Maine license looks like, when he suddenly realizes that he's dissatisfied with worldly life and mundane pursuits. So, he confiscates the license, tells the kid to beat it, and decides to devote himself to a higher calling. He's already been accepted to Our Lady of Grace Seminary, and they're sending him on an orientation retreat next week, so. Boyfriends are pretty much out of the question, especially since he's going to have to move to Boston, and I don't do long distance."

"Right," Sandy said, toeing off her right shoe. "What really happened?"

"He said I am the best roommate ever," Jared said gloomily. "I made waffles for breakfast, and then we ate, and then he said it. When he was washing the dishes. He tried taking it back, of course. Blamed it on Freud. I had to explain to him that a Freudian slip is actually an unconscious expression of a suppressed feeling or fixation, and that's when it all kind of... exploded."

"Oh, Jared," Sandy sighed, and kicked off her other shoe. Barefoot, she walked over to the shop entrance and flipped the sign to CLOSED before settling back down in her chair.

"He was right, you know. That's really what we've been for a while, now. Roommates with benefits, only I was too stupid to see it. Mama was right, too. Said I'm always off in my own little world, never really see what's right there in front of me. She never liked him. Told me so right away, and I went and fell for him anyway. You know he's owed me his half of December's rent since, well, December? February, too."

"Do you – Jay, you know you can always ask, if you need to –"

"Thanks. I mean it. But I got it covered. The apartment's barely a step above a rattrap, anyway. I'm thinking of giving my thirty days notice."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. No reason not to, now. He packed up all his clothes and told me not to bother calling. Said he was gonna send someone to pick up the rest of his stuff next week. Shit. Sandy," Jared broke off, lip trembling. "Shit. We've been – Sandy, we've been together since freshman year. Oh, god. Oh, god."

"Oh, honey. Oh, Jared, honey, come on, come here," Sandy said. "It'll be OK. It'll be OK, I promise." Jared went, let her push his hair back from his forehead, wipe his wet cheeks with a tissue from the box next to the register.

"Chad was a shitty roommate," he finally sniffled into Sandy's shoulder, lifted up his face and tried to give her a little half-smile. It almost worked. "And the apartment is a shitty apartment. It's gonna be fine. Here, lemme stand up. I'm gonna be OK."

"Definitely," Sandy nodded, getting up to hug him close. "Hey, you know what you should do? You should go out with us tonight. There's some band from Richmond playing at The Beat tonight. Jeff knows the guys, says they're pretty good. What do you say? Good music, good beer..."

"Company ain't half bad, either," Jared said, trying for another smile. This one worked markedly better. "Yeah, I'd love to come along. Hey, you want a hand with that silver display?"

And maybe that was just the moment Fate had been waiting for – if you happen to believe in that sort of thing. Maybe those were the very words she'd needed to hear before she could tie the knots in her threads, because after they'd finished straightening up, Sandy poked Jared in the arm.

"Hey," she said. "Hold out your hand," and slid a heavy silver ring onto his finger.

In retrospect, Jared considered, that moment should have come with a sign. Some kind of token or portent to mark the occasion: a quaking of the ground, or an ominous wind, or, barring those, an announcement over the loudspeaker. _Mr. Jared T. Padalecki, you have just received a real, honest to god magical object. Quantity: one. Shape: circle. Danger level: probably somewhere around orange_. However, there was nothing of the sort, only Sandy biting her lip thoughtfully for a moment before she smiled, big and deliberate.

"What's this?" Jared asked, contemplating the weight of the ring on his finger. He hadn't noticed it on the display when they were setting it back up, but he found he rather liked the simple design of it – no stones, no frills, just stark, gleaming metal.

"We're in a magic shop," Sandy said in the sort of voice she would have used had she been explaining the alphabet to a very small child. "Therefore, it's a magic ring."

"Oh, yeah?" he said, playing along. "What does it do, grant wishes? What do ya gotta do, turn it? Rub it? Is there a genie? How many wishes do I get?"

Sandy arched a neatly plucked eyebrow and fingered the shiny copper hoops of her own earrings.

"It makes your dreams come true, Jared. Seriously, what do you think magic rings are for?"

"Of course it does. Thanks, Sands," Jared said, and hugged her again. "You always know just the thing to do to make me feel better. I mean it, thank you."

"Don't mention it. Listen, Jared – "

But they didn't have time to find out what she was going to say, because Jeff came into the shop right then, setting off the door chime and letting in a heavy blast of cold air.

"Oh, so you're to blame for the early close?" he grinned, and Jared shrugged his shoulders sheepishly.

"I, uh, broke up with Chad," he explained, and Jeff nodded in sympathy.

"Time to get drunk, then. We'd better get a move on. Radio said it was gonna snow tonight. Maybe ice over. Last big one of the season."

By the time they'd stumbled out of The Beat, it had started to come down already, heavy white flakes circling slowly under the street lamps and crunching under their feet. Jared felt fizzy and warm and maybe a little muddled. Not quite three sheets to the wind, but pleasantly groggy, one arm wrapped tight around Sandy's shoulders, Jeff at his other side, a welcome, steadying presence. The band had been good, and the beer had been better. After the first few rounds came the shots; they'd drunk to each other, to life and to joy, to old friendships and new beginnings.

"To trolls and being rid of their under-the-bridge lifestyles," Jared had proclaimed. "And, hell, to goats, while we're at it."

"I'm not drinking to goats," Sandy had huffed, but Jeff made her down the shot anyway, and she'd made him drink in memory of the late, great Summer Street Bakery and their Espresso Truffles in retaliation. The new ring on Jared's finger clicked against his shot glass with every drink, and once, he thought he saw Jeff glance at it with narrowed, wary eyes. But by then, the pleasant muddled haze had wrapped him tight, and Jared decided he must have imagined it.

They walked him all the way to the suddenly empty and surprisingly quiet apartment on Harker Road, across from the Shell station and the supposedly twenty four hour laundromat, closed as usual, with a large sign on the door declaring that this time it was due to severe weather. Jeff helped him scale the stairs and Sandy fit the key in the lock, turned it and pushed the door open with a heavy creak.

"You guys wanna tuck me in, too? Make sure I brush my teeth, read me a bedtime story? 'M an adult, self-sufficient an' everything," Jared slurred in mock protest, but he was smiling, and it was clear he didn't mean a word of it.

"Oh, I'm totally tucking you in," Sandy laughed – and, despite Jared's feeble protests, did so; pulled the sheets and blankets over him, and leaned down close, her soft, long hair brushing over his face.

"Hey, Jay? After the ring does its thing for you," she whispered, quiet and careful, like she was afraid someone would hear. "You should give it to someone else, OK? Don't keep it, not even if you really want to."

"Mm, sure," Jared muttered, already half asleep. "You guys are welcome to crash on the couch, or in Chad's room, if you want to."

Sandy and Jeff didn't take him up on his offer of Chad's room, which was probably for the best. His clothes and dirty towels may have been gone, but who knew how long it had been since Chad last changed the bed linens. Jared didn't hear the front door click shut downstairs; by then, he was asleep and dreaming.

He didn't have time to think about it that first night; it seemed like the guy was there the second his head hit the pillow. Cross-legged on his bed, naked, green-eyed and gorgeous, with thick silver rings in his ears, thick silver rings in his nipples, heavy, like the ring on Jared's own finger, but he didn't notice them, could barely notice anything aside from how the guy tasted and smelled, coffee and milk, burnt sugar and vanilla.

"Am I dreaming?" Jared asked, pulling back.

"Dreaming," the guy echoed, warm graceful hands sliding under Jared's chin, tipping his head back.

"I am. This is a dream. A really wonderful, amazing dream," Jared said, and the guy nodded. Kissed him one more time.

  
**Chapter the Third, wherein Still Winter rages on, The Amber Moon has customers, Jeff acts suspiciously, and Jared goes apartment hunting.**

In true Still Winter fashion, the snow was everywhere when Jared woke up, the street muffled in soft gleaming white. He pressed his forehead against the window, watching the stray flakes still drifting lazily down before his breath fogged up the glass. He traced his finger through the moisture, drawing a smiley face, thought about it, and called in sick to work. Flipped on the coffee maker and went out to shovel the driveway.

He brushed off the windshield of his truck and scraped the ice off of the headlights. The truck bed was full of snow, and Jared grudgingly opened the tailgate. Shoveling out the back of his truck always made him feel a bit ridiculous, but so did carting around a load of snow, thick icy crust that would take weeks to melt forming steadily over the top. He probably should have gotten a cap for the truck bed, like both his Dad and Chad had been telling him to, but Jared rather liked the way the truck looked without it.

He'd bought the truck as a replacement for the little Honda that faithfully gotten him all the way through college and died right after his graduation – Magna Cum Laude, not that Jared was one to brag. It might have been Summa Cum Laude if not for his grade in Late Antiquity, which, contrary to its name, had been his only 8 AM, and sometimes, it just hadn't felt worth it to lift his head from the pillow. A few times, the Honda wouldn't start; she had been a particularly persnickety old maid that last year. Jared never told anyone – not even Sandy or Jeff, although he was certain they wouldn't laugh at him – that he had named her Dulcinea, after Don Quixote's lady love, and usually called her Doll, for short. As noisy, cramped and finicky as Doll had been, he still missed her sometimes, the truck he'd named Cervantes notwithstanding. Before you ask, Cervantes had nothing to do with Don Quixote and everything to do with playing Soul Calibur with Chad until their fingers went numb on the controllers. Jared would play Siegfried or Mitsurugi, and sometimes, Li Long. Chad stayed faithful to Sophitia – _dude, just look at her! How can you ever say no to a girl like that!_ They'd gone to the midnight launch when Soul Calibur IV came out, even though it meant taking Cervantes all the way to Providence – a video game store was something New Exeter decidedly lacked. They'd stopped for burnt, sludgy coffee at Seven Eleven and sour gummi worms at Store Twenty Four and didn't get home until well past sunrise, Chad grumbling about the higher sales tax across the state line the whole way, out of habit. It had been fun; _Chad_ had been fun. Irresponsible and maybe thoughtless sometimes, but Jared couldn't help it; he kind of missed him, too.

The snow cleared away, Jared returned the shovel to the porch, and went back upstairs to start breakfast. Took his eggs and toast to the La-Z Boy and watched cartoons as he polished off the plate.

"And I would have gotten away with it, too, if it wasn't for you meddling kids," said the fake Vampire of Vasquez Castle.

"Rooby-Rooby-Roo," Jared howled along with the TV, dumped his plate in the sink, and yawned wide. He still felt kind of sleepy, head muzzy and heavy despite the extra minutes he'd allowed himself to grab.

He followed the snowplow down Harker Hill and watched Main Street being cleared as he sat at the Starbucks drive through window. Jared's rather irrational disliking for Starbucks did nothing to mollify his sweet tooth; an Espresso Truffle from the chain shop was better than no Espresso Truffle at all. He ordered two grandes with whipped cream for himself and Sandy, and Jeff's triple no whip. Picked sticky change out of the cup holder, parked on the corner of Summer and East Pine and crossed the road, whipped cream already smeared over his upper lip.

"Mornin', you slacker," Jeff greeted him, poking his head through the beaded curtain in the back of the store. "Some of us didn't call in sick today."

"Some of us also own our own businesses and set our own hours," Jared grinned, setting the coffee tray onto the spotless counter. "And I really wasn't feeling up to fighting Manchester for their town motto today. Maybe tomorrow."

"Manchester? Pfft, you can take those guys. You have about three feet and at least a hundred pounds on their mayor, for cryin' out loud."

"That's what Intern Katie said, too. I dunno, maybe I should thumb wrestle him for it. Think that would drum up some tourists?"

"Undoubtedly," Jeff nodded, brushing packing peanuts off of his shirtfront. "Are all these for me? Why, thank you, Jared. That's very generous of you."

"Keep your hands to yourself, old man. Is Sandy not coming in until later?"

"She's doing the slacker thing, too." Jeff fiddled with one of his rings, twisting the copper band around until the little black stone was no longer visible. Watching him pick the triple no-whip from the tray, Jared felt for the ring on his own finger, its reassuring weight warm from his skin.

"I can see how you'd be missing her, what with it being so busy in here."

"Don't think I won't put you to work, instead. Got a shipment in the back that won't unpack itself."

"Well, that's not very magical of you, is it? Besides, you can't put me to work; I brought you coffee."

"And I'll never forget it," Jeff nodded solemnly, and opened the register. "Here, go get the Gazette and the Weekly Shopper. Grab the Providence paper, too; it's got at least eight pages of classifieds. Might as well start looking for that new place."

"I was thinking of looking on Craig's List," Jared said, pocketing the change. "Maybe Rent dot com?"

"Jared, what was the town motto before they decided we needed a new one?"

"Semper Eadem."

"Exactly. _Ever The Same_. Do you actually know anyone around here who uses Craig's List? The college kids and the _haul it away for free, I want that thing out of my driveway_ folks don't count. Go get the papers."

Jared went, snow crunching under his boots, back around the corner to Main and up to the newspaper vending machines by the post office. Steve was outside in his gray uniform coat, faux fur collar pulled up to his chin, spraying de-icer into the mail slot of the out of town box.

"What's this I hear about you movin'?" he asked, ineffectually poking at the mail slot with a bent wire, and Jared paused, picking up his papers.

"Steve. How's it going, and how the hell did you hear about that?"

"Your place was up for rent in the Shopper. And the Gazette."

"Already? I just gave notice this morning. Man, that guy is fast."

Steve kicked the mailbox with a heavy, steel-toed boot, and watched a chunk of ice land on the sidewalk with grim satisfaction.

"Shopper goes to print at eleven. Must've called it in right after you. Tell me you're not thinking of leaving us for warmer climes."

"Ah, no. Just looking for another place here in town. Or maybe out towards Richmond – I was thinking a house. Be nice to have a back yard. Maybe get a dog."

"Cats are a lot lower maintenance," Steve suggested.

"Cats are also evil, demonic creatures. I'm serious," Jared nodded at Steve's raised eyebrow. "All cats have a bit of demon in them."

"How do you figure?"

"They can't help it," Jared explained. "Back in the day, when all the animals lived in the Garden, the only one who managed to sneak out was the Cat. Clawed a hole right through the fence, because he wanted to see what was on the other side. He'd sneak out at night and come back by morning, with the angels being none the wiser."

Steve shrugged amiably. "Serves them right for being too lazy to put in a cat door."

"They weren't lazy. They just didn't want him to be an inside-outside Cat. It was for his own good, really. I mean, there were all kinds of nasty things out there. Harpies. Devils. Imps. And, well, the Cat wasn't stupid enough to chase devils, but he did play with the imps. Which wouldn't have even been that bad, except, one night, one of the imps asked the Cat if he could sneak him in to see the Garden."

"Let me guess; he agreed."

"Yup. Right before sunrise, the Cat put the imp in his mouth, so nobody would see, and stalked back in through the hole. He was just about to let that little demon out, when one of the angels noticed the hole in the fence, so, of course, there was a big to do about it right away. The angels gathered all the animals together, and asked who among them had been sneaking out of the Garden. All the animals said, _it wasn't me_, and the Cat really wanted to say _it wasn't me, either_, but, of course, he had the imp in his mouth."

"Oh, he didn't – "

"He did. He swallowed the imp, and opened his mouth to say, _not me_, but all that came out was _meow_. So, ever since then – absolutely evil and demonic. Every single one of them."

"Huh. I kind of like that. You always have these weird little tales, Padalecki. Have you considered doing, I dunno, kids' books, or something?" Steve asked, taping an out of order sign onto the in town mail slot.

"Nah," Jared shrugged. "I'm pretty sure nobody wants to read their kids bedtime stories about how Buster or Fluffy is secretly planning their doom. Anyway, I should get going. See you later, Steve."

"Have a good one," Steve nodded, and went back inside the post office.

Back at The Amber Moon, Jeff spread the newspapers over the back counter and they shared the extra Espresso Truffle between them.

"Whipped cream's mine," Jared called, uncapping a black pen. "Here, listen to this: charming two bedroom in restored Victorian. Easy to heat. Walk to center. Nine fifty a month, that's not bad."

"So, you're looking for two-bedrooms, then?" Jeff asked, tossing a Shopper page to the floor.

"I'm not sure. I'm kind of used to the space," Jared said thoughtfully, "but I'm not ruling anything out. I'd probably have to look at the place, regardless."

Jeff nodded. "Don't bother looking at that one. Charming, restored Victorian and easy to heat. That's three strikes, right there."

"Easy to heat is a bad thing?"

"Think about it; do you really want to pay for your own heat, around here?"

"Good point. So, what's wrong with charming and Victorian?"

"Bad wiring, not enough electrical outlets, and most likely a really awkward spot for the cable hookup."

"I see. How about this one: all utilities included, one bedroom, one bath, two levels. Bedroom and living room upstairs."

"Downstairs bathroom," Jeff said. "If it was on the bedroom level, they would've mentioned it."

"OK, then. Any other gems of apartment hunting wisdom you want to share?" Jared grumped, turning the page.

"Stay away from _cute_. _Cute_ is a codeword for _small_. _Cozy_ 's even smaller. How did you not learn this the first time around?"

"Chad found the place. And, hey, there it is," Jared said, poking at the Weekly Shopper. "For almost a hundred more a month than we were paying now. Nice."

He already felt a little bad for whoever ended up in the apartment on Harker Road after he left at the end of the month. They'd get the dark yellow fridge, the buzzing heating vent and the olive green tile in the bathroom. The jagged rip in the carpet only partially covered up by the big plaid couch he and Chad almost broke dragging it up the stairs their first day in.

"Shit. I just realized I have no idea how Chad's going to want to split the furniture. I mean, most of it was pretty cheap, and we inherited a few things from the house when my parents moved, but maybe I should be looking at furnished places?"

"Sure. Here, this is a one bedroom on North Main, that's actually pretty close to the Historical Society, and here's one, half way between New Exeter and Richmond. This one's close to everything. Couple of grocery stores, if memory serves me right, the mall – not that you really go to the mall all that much, but the Showcase Cinemas is right there, too; that's got to count for something. Fully furnished, heat and hot water, porch or balcony, elevator, laundry on premises, nine ninety-five a month? Sounds almost too good to be true. Here, let me jot down the number. Marina, call after three."

Jared pocketed the number and the specs with a feeling of finality. Like calling this Marina or Mill On the River Condos or Green Property Management would be it, the enormous change that had been a long time coming, irreversible and complete. Like the apartment on Harker Road and Chad had been one and the same, and getting rid of either meant the other one was irrevocably gone as well.

"I haven't even talked to him since, you know. He left a message about returning the keys, but he hasn't been by for his stuff yet, or anything like that," Jared sighed, playing with the silver ring around his finger, twisting it up to the knuckle and then pushing it back down. "Should I be there when he does? We should talk to each other at some point, right?"

"Probably. Might be too soon, though. Hang on a sec," Jeff said, pulling out his cell. "Sandy," he explained, hitting the talk button.

Naturally, as is usually bound to happen as soon as one moves to answer a ringing phone, restock the display shelves or get on a stepladder, the door chime rang, letting in a flock of girls.

"I got it," Jared mouthed at Jeff, waving him towards the back room. "Go talk to Sandy; I'll help them."

"I'm good. I don't believe in any of this magic crap, and I have English homework," one of the girls said, taking off her mittens and undoing her scarf. She plopped right down into the cream and blue armchair, pulled a notebook and a battered copy of Hamlet out of her backpack and began scribbling furiously.

"Uh, sorry about Trish," the second girl said, blushing bright pink. "Candles. We need candles, and Sara, weren't you saying something about a new Tarot deck?"

It felt like old times, finding blue pillar candles and lavender incense, wrapping up a copy of The Book of Shadows and a Guide To The Haindl Tarot in brown paper bags. Like he was still the sixteen year-old kid whose biggest worry was not being late for Mrs. Kearney's Advanced English Composition class and making sure she let him turn in a fiction story instead of a persuasive essay for his third quarter project. Mrs. Kearney still taught at New Exeter High. She would probably keep doing it until every one of her former students turned gray and old, and Jared was on the verge of asking Trish if they'd already read Othello before he saw the West Richmond sweatshirt peeking out of her unbuttoned jacket.

"Thirty six nineteen," he announced, ringing everything up on the same clanking register he'd worked on for almost four years, and waited for the girls to come up with the change, _Trish, you still owe me for Papa Gino's the other day_, _here, I have fifteen, and no, that doesn't count; I already gave you tip money_.

"This, too," Trish said, slapping a leather-bound blank grimoire on top of the counter. "What? It's basically just a journal with a stupid name. I like the binding, OK?"

"Wasn't gonna say a word," Jared told her, adding it to the total.

Giggling, the girls piled out of the store in a gust of frosty wind that clacked through the curtain beads and doused the stick of Nag Champa burning on the round table.

"Ominous," Jared muttered, sweeping up the ashes from the tablecloth and striking a match to relight the incense.

"Yes, Jared, customers are usually an ill omen," Jeff nodded, re-emerging from the back. "Thanks, by the way."

"No problem. Sandy on her way?"

Jeff steepled his hands together.

"No. Sandy, uh, has a date tonight," he said, rings clanking against each other, "and I, uh. You should probably start making those calls. Set up some apartment viewings; figure out what you'll need for furniture. You're always welcome to store whatever you need with me, you know. I've got all that extra space in the basement."

"Yeah, thanks," Jared said cautiously, straightening a shelf. "I should get going, see if I can get into one of those places after work tomorrow, or this weekend, maybe."

He grabbed his scarf and coat from the back, assured Jeff he wouldn't hesitate to ask for any more help with apartment hunting, said good bye and walked outside without looking back. If he had, he might have caught Jeff spinning the copper ring around his finger again, nail catching over the black stone, or maybe he might not have. He'd learned all of Jeff's jewelry preferences years ago, and didn't pay them much mind anymore.

On the drive home, back down Main Street and up Harker Hill, Jared wondered whether Jeff had finally had enough of complicated, or maybe it was just the season for it. Unnecessarily windy and cold, Still Winter didn't exactly inspire romance – not that Mud Season did much for it, either, but at least one could look forward to birds and sunshine and multitudes of flowers in bloom by its end.

He dreamt of the guy again that night, the soft, sugary mouth covering his, as soon, it seemed, as his eyes slipped closed. It didn't surprise him until he woke the next morning, sweaty and dazed, heart beating double time and the clock radio blaring his morning news alarm into his ear. In the dream, he'd felt nothing but heat. Dream Guy's hands, soft and careful, every touch almost reverent, and so overwhelming Jared knew it couldn't be real. Waves of pleasure flowing from everywhere they connected, spreading out into Jared's arms and legs, his chest, his belly, every molecule of his body as the guy drew his tongue over Jared's chest, lips closing over Jared's nipples, then lower. Jared didn't remember anything else when he woke up, recalling only the two of them moving together, a strange, languid ebb and flow that didn't feel like fucking, but he would be hard pressed to name another time he'd felt that good.

It came back to him as he was soaping up in the shower, suds washing down his legs and swirling down the bathtub drain. Scorching flashes of his thumb dipping into Dream Guy's stretched pink mouth, rubbing at the plump lower lip, feeling the smooth, slick texture. Dream Guy's tongue snaking out to dampen the skin, swirl over the pads of his searching fingers.

Jared hadn't known such a simple thing could feel like that, his knees suddenly barely enough to hold him up. He tilted his head back, letting the water rinse over his hair, braced himself against the shower wall with one arm. Closed his eyes, remembering Dream Guy crawling up the bed to kiss him, taste of salt from his fingers still fresh on his mouth, tongue sliding between Jared's lips like it belonged nowhere else.

He wrapped his free hand around his dick, a smooth, soapy slide that still somehow couldn't come close to when Dream Guy did it, wide palms and long fingers, green eyes watching him intently, hooded and lust-dark. His mouth was half-opened, a lazy pink o, tip of his tongue hitched between his sharp white teeth, hot breath so close to where his thumbnail was tracing the base of Jared's cock, a maddening, delicious scratch suddenly soothed by quick, teasing kisses.

"God," Jared groaned, stroking faster, hips fucking forward like he was about to sink into Dream Guy's perfect mouth again, all the way down into the silken, fluttering clutch of his throat. Like he was about to feel the stutter of Dream Guy's breath around his cock, too much, too good as he swallowed Jared deeper, sucked harder. When he came, it felt like dying, red haze rising in his vision, obscuring Dream Guy's face as he swallowed every drop he was given, chased the twitches of Jared's softening dick with quick, kittenish licks of his tongue.

"Fuck," Jared bit out, coming back from the memory, letting the water rinse his hand clean. By the time he stumbled out of the shower, he was running late for work, out of time to do anything other than quickly towel off and scramble into his clothes. His hair was still dripping wet when he got into his truck, so he turned the heat up as high as it would go, furiously finger-combing his floppy, limp bangs in the vain hope they wouldn't dry too awkward and sideways.

Later, at his desk at the New Exeter Historical Society, Jared absently flipped through next semester's internship applications, wondering what it all meant. Kissing – well, he'd always liked kissing, and the way Dream Guy's lips felt anywhere on him was incredible, the taste of him, coffee and vanilla, the slightest hint of chocolate on the tip of his tongue. The kissing, Jared surmised, or anything more than kissing, was not the problem; it had definitely been amazing the first night, and only got better the second time around.

"The second time around; that's the thing of it," he muttered to himself, pushing aside the obvious rejection pile and putting the remaining applications back into their manila folder. "One dream like that, that's normal. Great, even. Two, and in a row? That's just a little bit strange."

"So's your face," Intern Katie said cheerfully, plunking another pile of papers on his desk. "Who are you talking to?"

"Nobody," Jared sputtered, blushing. "Remind me again, what is it that you do around here?"

"Well, I don't make coffee anymore, what with us still lacking a coffeemaker. Look, I just brought you the budget comparison sheets from last year."

"What's in the envelope on top?"

"The forms for Accounting, the budget proposal for next year, and the town board's letter stating all of the reasons we can't have it. Oh, and I'm supposed to tell you that they're moving the town meeting to the seventeenth, and that the mayor is going to push for approval for the Fall Apple Festival."

"Apple Festival? Like the ones they already have in Burlington, Monmouth, Portsmouth, Springfield and Sullivan aren't enough? Nobody's going to come to New Exeter for an Apple Festival."

"Especially since we already have the Pumpkin Fest. Then again, so do Boston and Keene, and I'm pretty sure they've both been in the Guinness Book for theirs. Maybe we should just stay away from the fruits and vegetables, make it a generic harvest thing. The New Exeter Harvest Fair, complete with haunted hayrides. Hayrides go well with harvesting, right?"

"You should suggest it at the town meeting," Jared told Katie, who snorted at him.

"No way. I don't do town meetings. Don't give me that look; I'm not a slacker, I get involved! I intern here, and I volunteer at the library's weekend program, and I handed out Humane Society leaflets last year. Town meetings are where I draw the line, but the idea's all yours if you want it, boss."

"What would I ever do without you?" Jared grinned, cracking his knuckles before opening up the budget paperwork.

"Is that ring new? Never seen you wear it before. I like it," Katie said. "What? Oh, yeah, yeah, I'm going back to filing, don't get your unmentionables in a bunch."

Jared pondered some more as Katie disappeared into the stacks, watching the overhead light glint off of his ring in little iridescent sparks. A vague, half-formed memory of Sandy leaning over him brushed through his mind, _don't keep it_ whispered in her small, soft voice, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember what she'd been talking about, which was probably just as well. He had prospective landlords to call and apartments to look at, five more numbers added under Marina's to the little slip of paper in his breast pocket.

At night, Jared dreamt, hips straining helplessly against the bed, hands tangling in the short, spiky strands of the guy's hair, stroking down to trace the delicate shape of his ears, tug on the heavy silver rings threaded through the lobes. The guy shivered, arched under the touches, head thrown back and green eyes half-lidded, letting Jared kiss the hollow of his throat, mark the skin dark pink.

In the morning, feeling groggy and wrecked, Jared rubbed sleep out of his eyes, cooked breakfast and resolutely avoided calling Chad, choosing to set appointments with rental agents and a realtor, and inquire after movers, instead. For some inexplicable reason, there turned out to be no fewer than eighteen outfits in the vicinity of New Exeter offering rental vans, trucks, packing tape, boxes, dollies and strong burly men to make use of all of the above equipment, as if all denizens of the town did nothing but swap residences on a weekly basis.

"Eighteen? Really? Where the hell were they when we were trying to get that damn cauldron into the store? Thing must've weighed about fifty pounds," Sandy grumped when Jared called her on his lunch break to tell her all about it.

"Hadn't opened yet, I guess," he told her, checking his watch. "I'm leaving early today; gonna check out that all utilities included place Jeff found over on Route 31."

It wouldn't do to bore you with all the details of Jared's search; finding the perfect apartment is almost always a long and painstaking process of checklists and comparisons, viewings and showings, denial, anger, bargaining, acceptance, and only once in a great while, love at first sight.

"Or hate. The Edgewood Farms Condos, that was some serious hate at first sight," Jared complained to Sandy later, over boxes of Chinese takeout. "There are elevators, except you're not allowed to use them for move-in. What's the point of having an elevator if you can't even take it the one time you'd really want to?"

"Beats me," she shrugged, fishing a dumpling out of the carton. "Which one's Edgewood Farms? Is it that place over by the apple orchards?"

"Yeah. And get this, they didn't want to do a credit check, they wanted three months' deposit, instead."

"You wanted them to do a credit check, Jared? Oh, are you going for a beer? Can you grab some more soy sauce from the fridge, please?"

"I'll have you know, my credit is impeccable. Or, well, maybe not impeccable, but impeccable enough. Better than three months' rent as a down payment," Jared said, handing Sandy the bottle.

"I'm pretty sure something can't be _impeccable enough_, but I see your point," she nodded. "Have you decided if you're going to keep this couch?"

The Oakwood Arms turned out to be an exact replica of The Edgewood Farms, down to the building trim and the color of the tile in the bathroom. Even the property managers looked near identical: short, round-faced blondes with too-pink lipstick and too-severe bob cuts.

"I'll, uh, just fill this out and get it back to you," Jared assured the both of them, pocketing the rental applications. He hung onto the papers until he turned the corner, then crumpled them up and tossed them in the back seat.

"No pets, no smokers, no overnight guests, no loud parties, no music after eight, twenty five dollar fee to open the door if you lock yourself out, and you'll have to get a permit from the town to park in the lot across the street," said Mr. Grenier, the owner of _2 bdrm, 1 bath, h &amp; h/w, w/d hook up_.

"I'll get right on that," Jared nodded. "Nice meeting you."

"Drive safely, young man," Mr. Grenier said instead of _likewise_ or _have a nice day_.

By the time he made it to the flat Jeff had called too good to be true, Jared was quite ready to crawl back and tell Eric, _The Slumlord_, as Chad used to call him behind his back, that he'd been joking, _not very funny, yeah, I know_, and that he never wanted to move out of the apartment on Harker Road. Never ever. Not for all the tea in China, India and Sri Lanka, combined. "And wherever else Lipton gets their tea. I don't know, maybe Kenya. I'm not really a big tea drinker," Jared explained to the tall, thin woman with black lacquered nails, a veritable heap of beads wound about her throat, and hair the color of blueberries slicked back above her narrow, pale forehead.

"So I see," the woman said, clucking her tongue. "However, I'm confident I can change your mind."

"About the apartment, or the tea?" Jared asked, following her inside the apartment building, and she laughed, selecting the smallest key from an immense, clanking bundle.

"Both. Either. Whichever you'd like, Mr. Padalecki."

"Jared," he said, just to be polite, very certain that he wouldn't be signing any leases or giving up his coffee any time soon.

"Marina. Marina Rais Karabekian," she said, brushed a small speck of dirt off of the key, and slid it into the keyhole. "I think you're going to love this one."

An hour later, Jared left the apartment building with a brand new tin of loose leaf Ceylon black tea, a sheaf of papers and a solid feeling that things might work out, after all.

"I'll think about it," he'd told Marina, but he already knew he would be taking the place; there was no point looking at anything else. Just as Jeff had thought, it was close to the Richmond Mall, not one, but two movie theaters, and his pick of grocery stores: a Shaw's, a Stop &amp; Shop and a Trader Joe's. His drive to work would increase by about twenty minutes, but in Jared's estimation, that barely tipped the scales. The final check mark in the plus column came in the form of a laundry room on the building's first floor, right behind the utility room. Use of the building's washers and dryers did require purchase of a plastic card with a one-time fee and a subsequent refillable balance, but there was definitely something to be said for being able to wander downstairs in your pajamas at any time, and get your wash done without having to sit around with a PSP, Ninja Ropes on your cell phone or a Sudoku book. Sometimes, when Jared forgot any or all of the above, he'd be stuck with the laundromat's own collection of Avon catalogues and old copies of People, most of the ads defaced and perfume samples torn out. The covers usually referenced celebrity relationships that had ended in divorce months ago, not that Jared really followed that sort of thing outside of laundromats. The supposedly twenty four hour laundromat on Harker Road also had a tanning booth, which Jared found just plain creepy. What kind of person came down to do laundry and decided to grab a tan while they were at it?

The guy in Jared's dreams was tanned, but not the thick, dark orange advertised by the Suds Bucket tanning booth. His skin was the kind of sun-kissed Jared just wanted to reach out and touch, to see if his fingers came back trailing gold powder. Freckles dotted the bridge of his nose, hid in his cheekbones, dark lashes fanning down as Dream Guy closed his eyes, little cat-like rumble building deep in his throat when Jared circled one pierced nipple with the pad of his index finger. Followed it up with the swipe of his tongue and a rough, teasing bite.

In reality, he'd never been with a guy who had pierced nipples before, and Jared loved the way tugging on the thick silver rings made Dream Guy shiver and purr. The rings he wore in his ears were identical, heavy, stretching the lobes just a little bit; Jared would chase his tongue around the metal, feel the spot where it threaded through the tiny hole. Dream Guy didn't seem to like that anywhere near as much, body shaking with more pain than pleasure, and Jared pulled away reluctantly, watched the heavy earrings sway as the guy leaned forward. They looked too much like the ring he wore around his own finger, and he desperately wanted to ask Sandy if she knew it wasn't a coincidence. Wanted to tell her that the ring had to be responsible for making all of this happen, _it's actually magic, it really, really is, you have no idea_, but there really was no socially appropriate, non-awkward way to phrase it; none that Jared could think of, anyway.

He did try out a few explanations, practicing them in front of the bathroom mirror, but none of them sounded even remotely acceptable.

"Sandy, I know everyone thinks I make up stories, and I know you don't actually believe them, you just indulge me, because it entertains you. But you know that _magic ring_ you gave to me to cheer me up? Well, it works. By, uh, giving me these really graphic wet dreams, apparently. There's this guy – yeah, no."

Mirror Jared made a disgusted face, as if making certain real world Jared knew that came out completely wrong.

"Sandy, you know that ring you gave me?" he tried again, watching his reflection for signs of disapproval. "It seems like it might actually be magic. I dream of this guy, and when he's there, it's like the best feeling in the – no. That's really not going to work, either."

And so, Jared did not tell Sandy and Jeff about the ring. He waited for Marina Rais Karabekian to finish his background check, haggled with the town board over the children's activities budget, had lunch with the mayor of Manchester to discuss the latter's upcoming book, _Memorable Mottoes: The Secret To Your Town's Success_. He packed up his clothes into garment bags and his books into suitcases, took the plaid couch to the New Exeter town dump and wrote five glowing letters of recommendation for Intern Katie.

He was exhausted.

In the mornings, it was all he could do to lift his aching, heavy head from the pillow, pad to the kitchen, bleary-eyed, and wait for the coffee maker to glug its way through brewing his first cup of the day. He dutifully filled his travel mug, but found himself stopping at the Starbucks no matter what, both on his way to work and during his lunch hour.

"Addict," Katie muttered, shoving dollar bills into his hand. "Bring me back a Rainbow Cookie."

At night, kissed, stroked and licked, moaning into his pillow, Jared dreamt.

  
**Chapter the Fourth, wherein the story of Bluebeard is recounted, the local economy shows signs of recession, Jared attempts to patronize The Coffee Beanery, and the Enchanted Prince finally makes a daytime appearance.**

It was wet and foggy the day Jared signed his new lease, Mud Season slowly but surely nudging Still Winter out the door. The sun had been in hiding all morning. Soggy, darkened snow sloshed underfoot, staining the hems of Jared's pants, the tray of coffees was slick and uncomfortably cold in his hands as he made his way up Main Street, but he bounded through the puddles like a kid, barely resisting the urge to break into a run. It was a good day. Even Intern Katie had noticed.

"I'm pretty sure if you smile any wider, your jaw's gonna pop out of socket," she said, lifting her head from the stack of envelopes to be stuffed – three different versions of the Historical Society's newsletter, for subscribers (a donation of ten dollars or less), patrons (more than ten, but less than fifty), and honored patrons. "What, exactly, is the difference between a patron and an honored patron?"

"Roughly forty dollars, and blue paper for the newsletter, instead of white. Do you know how awesome it feels to be all moved in without having to lift a single piece of furniture?" Jared said, and Katie shrugged.

"Pretty much like moving always feels. Doesn't matter how much stuff you have; you're always going to have at least five things you don't remember buying, had no idea you had, and will somehow manage to misplace en route and never see again until the next time you move."

"And you tried to deny it when I called you surly."

"I still do. I'm not surly. You're just disgustingly cheerful, and therefore, have a skewed frame of reference. Besides, I've seen Harry Potter. Anyone whose friends own Diagon Alley should have zero problems lifting furniture."

"Right. I'll just ask Jeff to cast a quick Accio and summon all my stuff in one fell swoop."

Katie snorted, folding a green-inked copy of the newsletter, and licked the envelope, letting her expression turn serious, or possibly repulsed by the taste of glue.

"So, is he, you know… for real?"

"Who, Jeff?"

"Yeah. My old roommate said she heard that backroom was full of all sorts of creepy magical things. Like, a giant cauldron, and stuff like that."

"Well, yeah. Of course, the back room is full of all sorts of _creepy magical stuff_. That's where stores generally keep their stock. Cauldron's not for sale, though. It was such a bitch to get in there; Sandy said Jeff could sell it over her dead body."

"Hm," Katie said, unconvinced.

"I worked back there for years. Trust me. There are boxes, and packing slips, and more boxes, and sometimes, even bags. No Fanged Frisbees or Horcruxes."

"It's massively adorable that you can actually reference Harry Potter spells without shame."

"Thanks. I think." Jared said. "Listen, the newsletter can wait. Just finish up whichever one you're on, and get out of here for the day, OK?"

He wondered for a moment what Katie would say if she knew the kind of thoughts he was entertaining about his silver ring. It was doubtful that even she would believe him; Jared wasn't sure _he_ believed it some days, and not even waking up sore and worn out and tremendously satisfied convinced him then. He almost broke down and told Sandy at least four times, stopping himself at each last moment to talk about the weather, or the town meeting, or Marina Rais Karabekian, instead.

"She lives in the same building. Downstairs. Which is a little new for me – I've never had a landlord _right there_. I keep thinking I'm going to screw something up. Flood the sink, or destroy a load-bearing wall, or something, and she'll know right away."

"Destroy a wall? I think clogging the sink is a little more your speed. But I'm really glad you like the new place," Sandy said, writing out a packing slip for one of Jeff's special orders.

"I love it. The drive's a little longer, and I haven't quite figured out when to set my alarm for, so I keep oversleeping and yawning all morning, but it's worth it. I didn't believe her when she said she had the ideal place for me, and she does come off kind of batty, what with the hair, and the tea, but she really knows her stuff."

"The hair?"

"It's blue," Jared said, stretching out in the armchair, watching the sunlight filter in through the shop windows. "And she paints her nails black. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for self-expression, but aren't you supposed to grow out of that by the time you're thirty?"

Sandy and Jeff traded a look.

"Jared," Jeff started, but Sandy elbowed him in the side, hard.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Growing out of things. I should talk. I mean, I had this whole story in my head about her, hair and all, five minutes after she gave me the application to fill out," Jared quickly supplied, and Jeff smiled a little less uncomfortably.

"Let's hear it," he said, sealing the special order box with packing tape.

"I don't think anyone ever dared to ask her about her hair," Jared said, drawing his feet up under him. "Her mother used to brush it out every morning, getting her ready for school, braid it and coil it up around her head, like a big, blue snake. She'd tie it up with ribbon, and pack Marina's lunch, and check to make sure she had her permission slips signed and her gym clothes stuffed into her backpack, and drop her off at the East Catholic parking lot in her daddy's big, noisy car. Daddy said it was a classic, whatever that meant. Sister Laurel said it was showy, her mousy face scrunched up, but Sister Laurel scrunched her face up at most things, like Marina's patent leather shoes with silver buckles, and her starched white collars, and even her plaid uniform vest. But even Sister Laurel never said a word about Marina's dark blue braids, mentioning only once that little Marina must take after her father.

"The new girl who transferred in from the public school in the middle of fourth year was the only one who came right up to Marina during recess, poked her finger at her neatly tied hair bows and asked, _Does it grow like that?_ _Like what?_ Marina wanted to know, but Sister Anne was upon them right away, like a hawk, dragging the new girl by the arm to Sister Laurel's office. Everyone at school was terrified of Sister Laurel, and Marina was no exception.

"_Don't you know whose daughter she is?_ she heard, but then the class bell rang, and it was time for that day's math test. The new girl didn't come back to East Catholic the next day; _not a good fit_, Sister Laurel said, scrunching up her wizened, mousy cheeks even more.

"Marina wanted to ask her daddy what Sister Anne had meant, but he was locked up in his office all evening, and everyone in the house knew Mr. Karabekian's office was off-limits. It was always locked whenever daddy wasn't in it, too. Not even Emily, the maid who came by every Tuesday and Friday, was allowed in there to clean, and Marina never saw her mother open the door, either, although she had the key on her key ring, right along with the ones for the front door, the post office box and the car. When she was younger, Marina tried asking her half-brothers what daddy kept inside there, but even they, who managed to sneak around everywhere, even down into the wine cellar, didn't know."

"Half-brothers?" Sandy asked in a very small voice, and Jared nodded.

"Yeah. She had four. Her mama was her daddy's fifth wife, or maybe the sixth, I'm not real sure yet. She was the last, in any case. They, uh, died when Marina was in college, mugging gone really wrong, maybe. I don't know. I don't know why I just said that," Jared said, confused, and rubbed at his ring for reassurance.

"That's… kind of a lot creepier than the stories you usually have," Sandy whispered, taking a small step towards the back room. The little hoops of her copper and black earrings clanked sharply against each other. "I'm gonna grab a glass of water. Does anyone else want a glass of water?"

"No, I gotta run," Jared sighed, looking at the shop clock, but Sandy had already vanished behind the back room curtain. "Jeff, man, could you tell her I'm sorry? I didn't mean to freak her out, it just… kinda happened?"

"Right," Jeff nodded, fingertip stroking over the stone in his ring. "I'll tell her. Don't worry about it."

Jared worried about it, anyway. He worried about it on the way home and on the way to work, and on the way to Starbucks for his lunch break, deciding finally that maybe telling Jeff and Sandy weird tales during their rough patch wasn't the best of plans.

Sandy had gone on five dates with the same guy in the last two weeks, and Jared thought that maybe it was her turn to go a little crazy. Jeff had already had his a couple of years back, almost eloping with a girl named Allison after four days of dinners.

"Complicated," he muttered to himself, waiting at the drive through. "Complicated is one thing, but man, those two really need to talk it out."

Of course, he probably needed to talk it out, too. Get some closure with Chad, who, by all accounts, was renting a room in the basement of the Eight Ball, but Jared knew he'd keep putting it off as long as the universe let him. He didn't know if Chad was seeing anyone else yet, but there was no way he could answer that question comfortably, either. _Not really, but I sure do spend a lot of time in bed_ was simply not acceptable, not even in Chad-speak.

"Here you go, sir," the girl at the window said, handing him his cup, scone in a paper bag, and his change. "Just so you know, by the way – and this is also posted in the dining room – we're closing this Starbucks location as of next week."

"Closing? Why?"

"The economy is in a recession," the barista nodded, adjusting her headset. "The West Street and Madison Road locations are staying open for your convenience, so you can still enjoy the same Starbucks quality coffees, pastries and sandwiches. Have a nice day, sir."

Now that Jared no longer lived up Harker Hill, West Street was really out of his way. Madison Road was closer, but the Starbucks there was actually inside the Madison Road Super Target, and Jared thought going into Target just to grab a cup of coffee was a little bit weird. Not quite as weird as tanning at a laundromat, but strange enough nevertheless, which didn't leave him with many choices for coffee on his lunch break. In fact, Jared figured that short of finally buying another coffee maker for the Historical Society, he only had one option left. The Coffee Beanery, squeezed in right next to Chad's work – and apparently, now his home, which didn't exactly fill Jared with happy thoughts, but the need for caffeine won out. It would also give him a convenient excuse to talk to Chad if they did happen to run in to each other; _somewhere in public, like real adults_, Jared thought, and sighed.

On Thursday, he parked the truck a block away from The Coffee Beanery and grudgingly searched the glove compartment for extra change.

He waited in line, coat pocket weighted down with quarters, and stared at the big blackboard advertising the specials in a border of bright pink chalk: coffee of the day, all-natural syrups, something called a Ginger Spice. There was no Espresso Truffle on the board, but there was something named Hot Lava And Java. The shop smelled deliciously familiar, coffee and milk, burnt sugar and vanilla, and Jared decided that the Starbucks closing wasn't so bad, after all.

"What can I get for you?" the girl asked when he finally made it up to the register. Jared opened his mouth to order, coins at the ready, and felt his tongue freeze against his lips.

The other guy behind the counter had his back to the room, but Jared _knew_ the bend of his shoulders, the freckles on the back of his neck where darker hair tapered off into silky pale fuzz. _Knew_ the achingly familiar silver rings gleaming in his ears, the jut of his shoulder blades through his green uniform shirt as he tossed a dishrag into the sink, the little dip of spine above the waistline Jared had come to think of as his.

_Can't be_, he told himself in the moment before the guy turned around, but there he was, _Dream Guy_, green eyes, brown apron, black letters on his white plastic name tag, and Jared took one clumsy step back, then another.

"Hey – excuse you – watch where you're going!" the woman behind him squawked.

"Sorry," Jared managed, and ran from the store without ordering a thing.

At home, he pulled the ring off and immediately missed it, a cold line of skin where it should have been. It did not look any different now than it had in the morning or the night before, just a plain silver band, no matter how much Jared twisted and turned it. In a moment of sudden inspiration, he grabbed a pair of tongs from the kitchen drawer and turned on a burner on his gas stove. He held the ring out towards the hiss of blue-orange flames, but chickened out at the last minute, remembering his new landlady was downstairs, and worried he'd set off the smoke alarm or worse.

There were no suspicious marks, no runes or elvish script engraved on the ring, anyway, on the outside or the inside. The metal dinged loudly, just like it ought to have, when Jared let go of the tongs and dropped the ring on the floor. It was still warm from the stove and his hands when he picked it up after staring at it for an awfully long minute.

Sandy's voice echoed in his head, small and deceptively sweet. _It makes your dreams come true, Jared. Seriously, what do you think magic rings are for?_

That night, Jared left his bedside lamp on for hours, staring at the faint irregularities of paint on the ceiling, blankets pulled up to his chin. The ring sat on his nightstand, gleaming dully, its absence from his finger painfully conspicuous, especially once he'd turned off the light at a quarter past two.

The room was too hot, his pillow too soft, his bed too hard, his blanket too itchy. Jared tossed and turned, the clock's unforgiving ruby numbers blinking relentlessly forward. At four twenty eight, faint traces of light sneaking in through the blinds, he flipped the lamp back on, and stumbled down to the kitchen for a drink of water. When he came back, he slid the ring back onto his finger, lay his head down on his pillow, and finally – finally – fell asleep within seconds.

Dream Guy was smiling at him, white teeth sharp behind his moist, pink lips. He was naked, as usual, not wearing his daytime polo and coffee shop apron, and he pulled Jared close like nothing had happened. Not Jared driving home breaking every speed limit like the Devil himself was giving chase, not the hours he spent staring at the ring on his nightstand.

_Of course, nothing's happened, as far as he is concerned_, Jared thought, remembering his all too quick flight from The Coffee Beanery. _He hadn't had time to notice me_.

Dream Guy's finger was circling over his hipbone, a light, playful tickle tracing down between his thighs, and Jared gritted his teeth and tried to keep breathing when Dream Guy's hand finally wrapped around his cock.

_Why_, he wanted to say, _Stop_, _Who_ are _you_, but his tongue refused to obey, trapped by the guy's sugar and coffee sweet mouth. _Please_, Jared thought desperately, _please, please, please_, the guy's thumb circling the head of his dick with electric heat, but his lips felt glued together, sealed tight with sleep and unable to make a sound.

Reader, if you have ever tried to take hold of your dreams as you lay in bed, your feet failing you just as nightmare pursuers were closing in, your wings shedding feathers just as you soared above the clouds, your heart thumping and tripping within your chest with the urge to stop it, to fix it, to remember you were only dreaming, then you know what Jared felt like at that moment. It is difficult to control dreams, and harder still when they are not yours alone.

The guy stripped his dick with sure, fast strokes, green eyes fixed firmly on Jared's face, and Jared gave in, sinking back into the pillows.

"Please," the guy whispered, leaning in close, the cool rings in his nipples brushing over Jared's thigh, his tongue slicking silky wet over the head of his dick.

"Jensen," Jared moaned, suddenly finding his voice, and the guy froze, startled green eyes open wide.

"Just a dream," he breathed, shaking his head, and suddenly, Jared was alone in his bed, blanket pushed to the floor and head aching. The room was morning-bright, and the clock on the nightstand read seven forty.

"Jensen," he said, the name he'd read on The Coffee Beanery barista's nametag, and listened to the syllables echo in the empty room.

Jared waited for the minutes to pass, ring clenched tight in his fist, silver edges digging sharply into the skin of his palm. He hadn't thought eleven o'clockish was a bad time for a business to open its doors before, but this morning, he wished Jeff and Sandy were just a little more punctual. He sat in his La-Z Boy, dressed and ready to go, Scooby Doo playing on the television like it did every morning, but for once, Jared couldn't bring himself to pay attention to a robotic fish capsizing boats in the Haunted Lagoon.

At ten thirty, he grabbed his keys, his phone and his wallet, locked the front door, and drove to The Amber Moon.

He didn't say _Good morning_, and Jeff didn't, either. Just pointed towards the back with a copper and onyx-ringed hand, beaded curtain parting around Jared's shoulders. In the back room, Sandy was bent over a box, digging through a pile of packing peanuts, copper rings with little black stones hanging from her ears, and Jared drew in a harsh breath, suddenly remembering he'd never seen her wear any others.

"Morning," he said, hoarse, and watched Sandy straighten, stared at her unchanged face, smooth-skinned and twenty-something, just like she looked when he was seventeen, helping her carry in a chintz-covered armchair.

Ten years. He'd been coming here for ten years, and Jeff had gray gathering around his temples and in his beard, Jared had filled out and stretched more than a couple of inches, and Sandy hadn't aged a day, standing there in The Amber Moon's back room with packing peanuts clinging to her sleeves.

Jared helped her brush the staticky foam from her shirt, and took a step back.

"Sandy, who's Jensen?"

"I'm sorry," she babbled, shaking her head, "Jesus, Jared, I'm sorry. I told you. I told you to give the ring away, I warned you, but you kept it. I should've known you'd keep it – nobody ever gives them away, not even Jeff. I know, I shouldn't have given it to you in the first place, but there you were, so upset about Chad, and I just wanted you to feel better. Just for one night. It'd be good for you and good for him, would all have worked out just fine if you'd just given it to someone else, but you didn't, and I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done it at all. I'm sorry, OK?"

"OK," Jared said. "You're sorry. Sure. But that really doesn't answer my question. So I'm gonna ask you again, and you're gonna tell me. Who is Jensen?"

"I told you that you reminded me of him," she said with a weak smile. "Jensen's my brother."

"You don't look anything alike," Jared managed, feeling the floor sway a little under his feet.

"Yeah. I know," Sandy nodded. "Everyone always says that."

  
**Chapter the Fifth, wherein Jared learns of the curse, the mice are furious, Chad is surprisingly helpful, and the story nears its end. **

Jared sat down in the cream and blue chintz armchair, as he usually did, listlessly watching Jeff lock the front door and flip the sign in the window to CLOSED.

"Explain it again," he said dully. "Please, explain again how you lied to me for how many years now? You and your brother are _what_? A pair of dream-walking, life-sucking succubi? "

"Males are technically incubi," Sandy whispered, "and we're not. It's a curse."

"A curse. That's rich. You feed on people through, through dream sex and cursed jewelry. I've been feeling like death warmed over for weeks. I thought I was just tired, you know? Caught up in work and in moving. Were you ever going to say anything before I, oh, I don't know, got worse?"

"We were going to try to break it," Jeff said from behind him. "Once and for all. Now that we know where she is."

"Where who is?"

"The witch who cursed Jensen and I," Sandy said. "We've been looking for her for years; we tried everything, but we couldn't find her. Until you. You, Jared, you don't even know. That story you told us about your new landlady, I couldn't believe what I was hearing."

"My _landlady_? You mean Marina? You tryin' to tell me _she_ had something to do with all of this?"

"I didn't figure it out until you mentioned her half-brothers, and her mother. She's the one who made us… into this."

"I don't even know what to say. My landlady? Seriously? You expect me to just trust you on that? She's kind of weird, yeah, sure, because who the hell gives out tins of tea to prospective tenants, but why on earth would she do that to you?"

"Jared," Jeff said, hands softly rubbing at Sandy's narrow shoulders, like he was trying to keep her steady. "Why did you tell us that story about Bluebeard being her father?"

"What the hell does my story have to do with it? It was just a stupid story. Just came to me, you know, like they usually do. You're not saying it happened just like that, are you?"

Jeff shook his head. "Not just like that, no. I wasn't there, anyway. Hell, I wasn't even born yet. But from what they've told me," he nodded at Sandy, "and from all the research I've done, it wasn't far from the truth."

"OK. Fine. Let's assume I believe you for a minute. That still doesn't answer any of my whys."

"Her parents. They were murdered," Sandy said, decidedly avoiding Jared's eyes, hands clasped tightly together in her lap. "An eye for an eye. Our family wanted vengeance for two of their daughters."

"Delightful," Jared muttered, putting his head in his hands. "And you couldn't have told me about this before? You just had to give me your brother's ring instead, so he could _feed on me_?"

"If you'd given it to someone else after the first night," Sandy started, but Jared didn't let her go on.

"So he could do it to someone else, instead? Is that what you're doing to Jeff? Is that why you have this sham of an open relationship, _oh, it's complicated_, _oh, that's just how it works for us_? It's real complicated, all right. You sleep with other guys so you what, don't kill him?"

"I – "

"No, you listen to me," Jared yelled, springing up from the chair. He didn't have a tirade prepared, although it was certain whatever was about to come out of his mouth wasn't going to be pretty.

He didn't get to say it.

"I love her," Jeff said quietly, instead. "And I don't want her to die. She will, if she doesn't do _that_, and so will Jen. And I don't want him to die, either."

"And you love him back?" Jared asked, waited for Sandy to look up at him, wide-eyed and trembling.

"Yes. I do. And maybe what we're doing can't break the curse, but if we can make it work like this, it's enough."

"Maybe; for the two of you. Easy for you to say. Unlike me, Jeff knew what he was signing up for!"

"I didn't, actually. Not at first. I figured it out. They can't say anything until we figure it out."

"Another stipulation of the curse, right?" Jared sighed. "Well, that's just freaking peachy. You know what? I really don't care. It doesn't matter if I believe you, or not. You were my friend. The both of you were. I don't think I can be here anymore; I've got to go home. Here. Give your brother his ring back."

"I can't," Sandy said, shrinking back from his proffered hands. "Either give it back to him yourself, or give it to someone else, but I can't take it back for you."

"Fine," Jared snapped, turning away. He unlocked the shop door and stepped out, the door chime ringing harshly behind him.

He sat in his truck for a good two hours, getting out once to put more dimes into the parking meter. One of the local traffic cops parked two spots down and knocked on his window at three, inquiring if everything was OK.

"Yeah, just waiting for someone, Officer Ferris, thanks," Jared said, rubbing a hand across his forehead. "I've been feeding the meter – you can check."

"Oh, I believe you," she grinned warmly. "Hopefully whoever it is won't keep you waitin' too much longer."

Jared felt for the ring in his pocket as she took off. He couldn't imagine someone else slipping it onto their finger now that he knew what it did, what it had the potential to do, Jensen's softly freckled face and stupid apron flashing behind his eyelids every time he closed his eyes.

_So you keep in your pocket, and angst about it. And he'll die_, a little grating voice popped up in his head, sounding uncomfortably like Chad. _Or you give it to some unsuspecting sucker. Let someone else paw at him for a change. And, you know, then also possibly die. It's a win-win situation, except without the win_.

"Shut up, Chad," Jared sighed, and quickly looked out of the car to make sure Chad wasn't, in fact, standing right there, or coming in or out of the Eight Ball for a shift change or a cigarette break. He wasn't.

At four o'clock, Jared got out of the truck, looked both ways crossing the street, and desperately hoped for The Coffee Beanery to be closed, _Gone to Tahiti, be back after New Year's_ scrawled on the window. But the door opened when he pulled on the knob, and Jared got in line in front of the counter, ring clutched in his hands and heart beating in his throat, breaths coming ragged and shallow and short.

"What would you like?" said the girl manning the counter, not the same one as before. This one had short black hair, and eyelids painted bright neon pink.

"Jensen," he said hoarsely, and then again, louder, "Jensen," and Sandy's brother turned around from filling the coffee grinder, a ripped bag of beans and a measuring cup in his hands.

"Here," Jared said, holding the ring out across the counter, dimly registering the sounds of the shop going still.

"Wow," someone said from behind him, and Jared felt himself going red.

"Just take it, please," he begged, his mouth moving like in a dream, one that suddenly finds you looking down only to notice you're naked, and everyone has known it all along except for you.

He dropped the ring on the counter with a clang, and turned to the girl at the register.

"I'll have a large coffee. Just regular coffee, milk and sugar," he forced through numb lips, thrust crumpled dollar bills into her hand, accepted his hot, recyclable paper cup and walked out. The coffee smelled like burnt sugar and milk with a hint of vanilla, and Jared's stomach roiled. He threw the cup into the nearest trashcan without taking a single sip.

He barely remembered driving home, coming to only when Marina Rais Karabekian waved hello at him from her porch, thick blue braid wound around her head like a snake. Try as he might, Jared could read no malice in her eyes, no quick and sudden indication that she was anything other than an eccentric lady who enjoyed tea and her work as the property manager just a little too much.

"How are you?" he asked, just to be polite.

Marina pursed her lips, eyes going black and beady.

"I'm waiting for the exterminators to call back. We seem to have developed a slight, how do I put it, mouse problem in the building."

"Mouse problem?"

"Brr, mice," Marina Rais Karabekian said with a shudder. "Filthy little creatures. Don't worry; we'll have it solved in no time. Like I said, I've called the exterminators. They're supposed to get back to me about coming by tomorrow to put rodent poison down in the basement."

"Poison? Don't they have those, um, no-kill traps now?" Jared asked, wanting nothing more than to go inside, take the elevator up and collapse into bed with a pillow over his head.

"Pah. No-kill traps; whatever is the point?" she scoffed. "Poison is the only efficient method. I simply can't abide those repulsive little things. Their little rodenty faces. Remind me of Sister Laurel."

"Sister Laurel?"

"Oh, nobody," Marina said breezily. "You go on up, now. I'll let you know when the problem's all taken care of."

Jared nodded, feeling even more uncomfortable than before.

"Oh, Jared," Marina called after him. "What happened to that lovely ring you wore all the time? You didn't lose it, did you? Don't tell me; was there a breakup? I'm ever so sorry."

"No, I'm fine, thanks," Jared snapped, and pushed the button for the elevator.

The message light was blinking on his answering machine upstairs, Chad's cell number on the caller ID, followed by his parents', but Jared didn't have the heart to listen to either of the messages right then. He unlaced his boots and unbuttoned his jacket, and went into the bedroom without bothering to turn on the light. His head ached, pressure building in his temples, and a sharp niggling pain worried between his ribs in time with the scratching under the floor.

_Mice_, Jared thought absently, stretching out in bed, suddenly remembering being small and telling his mother about the Great Mousy Battle of Underporch, about talking to the Mouse King and digging trenches with tall, earthy embankments in his parents' primly manicured lawn. He'd dug up grass and stained the knees of his jeans, and his mother had been furious, threatening to make him wear hand-me-downs and fire the babysitter for not paying attention enough.

"You were right, mama," he whispered into his pillow. "I should've grown out of it. Maybe I wouldn't be in this mess right now if I had. Never worked at Amber Moon. Never met any of them, not Chad, not Sandy or Jeff, or most of all, Jensen."

It occurred to him then that he hadn't met Jensen. Not in any conventional sense of the word, trying to return his magic ring notwithstanding. He had no idea what daytime Jensen was like, what he did other than serve customers and wipe down the counters at The Coffee Beanery. If he was anything like his sister at all, her slightly flaky sense of humor, the way she could drink almost anyone under the table even despite her miniature size. The only thing he really knew about Jensen, he supposed, was that Jensen was gorgeous clothed or naked, awake or asleep, and that Sandy got this sad little smile on her face when she talked about her brother, about how much Jared reminded her of him.

_You also know that he's cursed_, the annoying Chad-voice in his head supplied. _Just like Sandy. Awesome friends you have, huh?_

"Shut up, Chad," Jared muttered sleepily, and turned on his side.

That night, he dreamt he had a to take a Late Antiquity test he hadn't studied for, and Doll took forever to start, the engine coughing and sputtering before finally turning over. When he got to the classroom, blue book in hand, he looked down only to find he wasn't wearing any pants, shirt or even underwear, just a silver ring on his index finger, heavy and gleaming in the overhead light.

Saturday dawned clear, bright and warm, the sounds of birds chirping and the drip drip drip of melting icicles coming in from outside. Jared stretched and yawned, brushed his teeth and got breakfast together, buttering toast and scrambling eggs on the heavy cast iron griddle his mama had gotten for him several years before. Brushing his hair, he stared into the mirror for a good long minute, trying to find some indication in his face that things had changed, but couldn't see anything different. There was still a mole on his cheek, near his nose. His eyebrows still curved the same way over his eyes. The thick, overgrown fringe of hair fell exactly the same way over his forehead, just as it always did no matter how much he fiddled with it.

The air outside smelled like spring. Real spring, Jared thought, not Still Winter or Mud Season, stray clouds puffing across the pale blue sky, a crocus bud pushing its way through the half-melted snow on the apartment lawn.

"Jared," Marina nodded at him from her porch, cup of tea in her hands.

"Good morning," Jared said cautiously, and Marina's lips stretched into a displeased grimace.

"Nothing good about it. The rodent exterminators aren't coming till tomorrow." She shuddered visibly, tea spilling from her cup. "Ugh."

"Sorry to hear it. Well, enjoy the sunshine," Jared said, started Cervantes and headed for the center of town.

He made what he figured would be his last trek through the Main Street Starbucks drive through. He ordered the usual three grande Espresso Truffles, two whip, one no whip triple, paid with his debit card and parked around the corner of East Pine.

Jeff was totaling bank slips at the counter. Sandy was brushing the bookshelves with the old, bedraggled duster, trailing chicken feathers all over the floor. And perched in the cream and blue chintz armchair, feet and all, was Sandy's brother, a pair of wire-rimmed glasses pushed up on his freckled nose. He was wearing jeans with holes in both knees and a Pink Floyd tee shirt, black softened into a charcoal gray by one too many times in the wash.

"I, uh. Brought coffee," Jared said awkwardly, stepping forward. A brief, hopeful smile curved over Sandy's mouth, and Jeff pushed aside the adding machine, slid the stack of receipts back into the register in an untidy heap.

"I didn't get – I didn't know – not enough for everyone," Jared said just as Jensen sprang from the seat, a hot blush staining his cheeks.

"I'm gonna – I'll call – I should go," Jensen stuttered, turning towards the door, and Jared hadn't a clue what made him do it, but the next moment found him blocking Jensen's way, the tray of coffees held out between them.

"You can have mine."

He thrust the cup into Jensen's hands, barely waiting for him to take it before he set the remainder of the tray on the counter next to Jeff.

"So," he said, sitting down in the other armchair even though it felt incredibly odd, covered in purple and green plaid, a little lumpy and not at all like his. "I remember you saying something about us having a curse to break?"

"I – " Jensen started, still standing there holding the coffee, and Jared lifted up a hand, cutting him off.

"Shut up, OK? Just – don't say anything. If you do, there are more than likely going to be issues, and possibly fighting, and then maybe some black eyes and we're going to have to call the police and fill out reports and sit in the hospital waiting for icepacks, and I just can't deal with any of that right now. So we're gonna talk about the curse, and nothing but the curse. For now. Got that?"

"Got it," Sandy and Jeff said simultaneously, and Jared couldn't help it. He smiled a little, just out of the corner of his lips, and maybe it wasn't much, but it was something.

By three o'clock, Jared had gotten them two sets of refills, Jeff had smoked his way through half a pack of Parliaments, and Sandy had gone down to Luca's to bring back bags of chips, cans of Coke and foot-long subs on toasted wheat bread generously drizzled with red wine vinegar and olive oil. Only Jensen never moved from the blue and cream chintz armchair, sneakered feet tucked under him, arms wrapped around his knees. From time to time, he worried at the rips in his jeans with nervous fingers, plucking and pulling at loose denim threads, and wiped his glasses on the hem of his tee shirt before putting them back on face. There was a thin red line marking the bridge of his nose where they kept slipping down, and Jared kept glancing at it whenever Jensen took them off, feeling his stomach take a little flip each and every time.

"It's not like we can just ask her, _hey, would you be so kind as to take off this curse off of my girlfriend, because it's really fucking up our lives_," Jeff muttered, lighting up again. "Trust me. It's been tried more than once, back in the day, before she up and disappeared."

"Right," Jared nodded. "What about intimidation? Have we ruled out intimidation yet?"

"I'm not an all-powerful wizard. I'd be lying if I said I didn't know my way around most of this stuff – " Jeff gestured at the shelves, the backroom curtain, the boxes of books stacked in the corner behind the counter. "Hell, I first started dabbling because I was hoping I'd figure out some way to fix it. But Gandalf or Dresden I ain't, and I don't know anyone who is, either."

By seven, they had to prop open the front door to let the thick cloud of noxious nicotine smoke air out, the CLOSED sign wedged firmly into the doorjamb, blocking anyone from entering. The conversation had devolved into _"What about – " "Tried it,"_ and _"Well, how about – " "Yep, that too. And that's not physically possible, by the way,"_ and Jared was feeling his belly rumbling again, although whether with hunger or nerves was hard to tell.

He couldn't help feeling like he was intruding, somehow, although they had been the ones who intruded into his life, wormed their way into his home, his head and his heart, and he was in this whether he liked it or not. He hadn't said a word to Jensen since offering him that first coffee in the morning, because what could you possibly say to the guy who'd sucked out bits of your life through what you'd thought were regular, if overly graphic, jerk-off fantasies? What did you say to the guy who'd shared your bed night after night after night, but had never been invited?

And maybe it hadn't his fault, not entirely, but when Jensen finished his chips and wiped at his mouth with a napkin, Jared couldn't help remembering the way that mouth had tasted, even though it was nothing he should have known. He wondered what it would have been like to meet Jensen during the day. To have become a Coffee Beanery regular, or maybe let Sandy introduce them, _Jay, this is Jen, you know, the brother I told you so much about_.

He groaned quietly, and took a long gulp of his warm, gone-flat soda.

"Let's call it a day," Jeff said finally after the shop clock struck nine. "If we think of anything else – "

"You'll call me," Jared said, and headed out.

Sandy caught up with him outside, small hand pulling on the sleeve of his jacket.

"Thanks," she said, and he nodded.

"Yeah."

"Listen, I know we're not even remotely OK – "

"No, we're not," Jared said, slowing down so she could match his stride. "Look, you're my friend. You've been my friend for ten years, and I can't just throw that away, no matter what happened. But that was a hell of a lot of lying, even for ten years. And a hell of a lot of trust going by the wayside. I said I was going to help, and I will. I don't break promises. But that's all I can offer right now. You gotta give me time for anything else."

"I know. I just wanted to say – look, I don't think it's safe for you to go back to your apartment tonight. There's a reason she let it to you in the first place. She – "

"Is almost certainly on to me," Jared nodded. "I don't think she knows I'm on to her, yet. I just need to let her keep thinking that for a couple more days. We'll figure it out. Good night, Sandy."

Once back in his truck, Jared pulled out his cell and dialed Chad.

"Bring beer," he said without preamble, and waited for Chad to write down the address.

"Dude," Chad said, walking through the door with a twelve pack of Circus Boy in his hands. "This blue-haired chick downstairs was checking me out."

"Yeah, about that," Jared said, making room in the fridge. "I, uh. I've got a lot of stuff to tell you. Can we just skip the whole awkward post-messy break up period of adjustment and go right back to being friends again? With no benefits," he added quickly, just to make certain.

Chad rolled his eyes. "Sounds good by me."

"Great. Hang on; let me get the bottle opener. It's in here somewhere."

"Somehow I feel this probably called for tequila, not beer," Chad said thoughtfully when Jared finished explaining it all, from the ring to Marina Rais Karabekian's rodent exterminators. "Too late now. Packie's closed."

"Don't you work at a bar?" Jared asked, popping the top on his third Circus Boy.

"Sure, dude, I do. I'm on my second strike, though, and I really don't wanna lose my job right now. I got this friend I got to pay back for covering rent for me three months running."

"Thanks. I think there might be whiskey left over from the previous tenants in that cabinet over there."

"Nah, I'll stick to the beer. I'll take some gummi bears, though, if you have them," Chad smiled.

"Same cabinet, go ahead," Jared said, and smiled back.

At two, Jared brought the spare quilt out of the hall closet and made up the couch.

"Dude, I will kick you if you tuck me in," Chad mumbled in what he probably thought was an intimidating manner, but Jared knew better.

"Yeah, yeah. Good night," he said, and went to his room. He didn't get to stay for long, having just changed into an old pair of boxers and mashed his pillow into a comfortably dented shape, when a loud crash from the living room was followed up by an ear-splitting, high-pitched scream.

"Jared! The mice are out to get me!" Chad screamed again, and if panic hadn't gotten hold of him, curiosity surely would have. Jared grabbed the only weapon he could find, a heavy volume of _Memorable Mottoes: The Secret To Your Town's Success_ with the Manchester mayor's autograph on the inside cover, and ventured out into the living room.

Chad was standing on the couch, clutching one of the cushions to his chest with one hand. The other pointed to the middle of the living room floor, and once Jared hit the light switch, he saw exactly what had gotten him so riled up.

Eleven mice sat in a semi-circle in the center of the flowered carpet. A twelfth had perched on the discarded package of gummi bears like it was nothing less than a throne, lashing his little mousy tail at the crinkling plastic.

"Uh, hi." Jared said tentatively. "Can I help you?"

The eleven mice began to advance.

"Stop it!" Chad squeaked from the couch. "Go away! Shoo! You've got exterminators coming for your vermin asses tomorrow; there was a note on the door!"

"Oh, I don't think so," the twelfth mouse said from his seat. "They can try. There are thousands of us down in the basement. If you think we're going to lie down and get _exterminated_, you got another think coming."

"Jared. It can talk," Chad whisper-yelled, clutching the couch cushion closer. "The mouse can talk, and I think it's threatening me."

"Yeah, I got that," Jared whispered back. "Say, you didn't happen to spike our beer, did you?"

"Me? You're the one who told me the crazy story about the life draining sex demon you've been sleep-boning! And that was before you had any beer at all."

"Crazy story? I thought you believed me! You _said_ you believed me. And to hang in there, and that we'd figure out a way to fix it if we kept at it."

Chad shrugged. "I figured if I acted supportive enough, maybe you'd lay off my ass about the missing rent."

"I take it back. I hate you. I think I might hate you more now than I did when you called me the best roommate ever. Why, why did I decide I wanted to be friends with you again?" Jared groaned, putting his head in his hands.

"My ever-persisting optimism in dire situations? Hey, get _off_ me, you growth-stunted rat!"

"He will," the twelfth mouse promised. "As soon as you call off the exterminators, that is."

"That's not me! I don't even live here," Chad squealed. "Jared, do something!"

"What do you want me to do? It's not me, either; it's my apparently thoroughly evil landlady. I like mice. When I was eight, I helped the Mouse King fight the Great Battle of Underporch."

"Now is so not the time for one of your idiotic stories," Chad started, but just then, the twelfth mouse jumped down from its gummi seat. He scampered towards Jared, the other mice giving way, and looked him up and down with beady little eyes. His whiskers twitched as he sniffed at Jared's bare toes.

"Stories of that battle have been passed down by generations of our people," the mouse said finally. His whiskers continued tickling at Jared's foot. "King Gray The Third assumed the title of Emperor that day, with the help of a mighty giant. Although I'm not sure he was quite as enormous as you."

"It _was_ me," Jared said, as the mouse nipped at his big toe. "Ow! What was that for?"

"Just testing," the mouse explained. "And, what do you know, my teeth tell me you're not lying. How long do you giants live?"

"Uh, I'm not sure what the average life expectancy is for a human male," Jared said, wracking his brain. "Seventy five years, maybe? Chad, do you know?"

"No, I don't. But that rodent just admitted that it and its entire people owe you their livelihoods. Think maybe now you can get this one to stop climbing my leg? Its claws are really, really sharp, and it's practically up to my ass already."

"Shut up, Chad," Jared said. It was very satisfying to say that out loud to real-life Chad, not just to silence the annoying little Chad voice that popped up in his head from time to time with inappropriate observations and phenomenally bad advice about life. "I think I have a plan."

"Am I going to regret this plan in the morning?" Chad asked, dropping the cushion.

"I guess we'll find out," Jared said. "Now, mice, here's what I'm going to need you to do."

They didn't get to find out whether Chad was feeling particularly regretful by the time the spring sunlight pushed its way around the window blinds, painting golden yellow squares on the floor.

"Go 'way. 'M busy sleeping," Chad muttered when Jared attempted to wake him.

"Come on, rise and shine," Jared persisted, yanking at the blanket.

"Busy. Sleeping. Said so," Chad mumbled again, and kicked out with his feet, catching Jared painfully in the kneecap.

"Ow! Quit that, you mule! Sandy called; she wants me to come down. Come on, I'll buy you breakfast," Jared wheedled, dodging a second kick.

"You're making that up. Not goin'. Sleeping," Chad said with a yawn, rolled over, and refused to answer anything else.

"Fine, you layabout," Jared sighed, giving up. "I'm leaving the keys on the kitchen counter. Lock up when you leave. And just so we're clear, this is not turning into a regular thing. I'm only letting you do this because I'm in a hurry. Sandy sounded really confused, and kind of freaked, and I really need to get down there and see if the plan worked, OK?"

Chad only snored in response.

Sandy was waiting for him outside of The Amber Moon, pacing the sidewalk all the way from Off The Grid Comics to Luca's Sandwich Shop.

"You won't believe what just fucking happened!" she yelled as Jared put change in the meter, and she rushed up to the corner to meet him. Two ladies walking their dogs along East Pine gave her sour looks, but she ignored them completely, holding on to her full, flowered skirt with both hands as she ran.

"It worked. Please, tell me it worked," Jared said when she got close, cheeks red and hair tangled in the wind. She wasn't wearing any earrings.

"If by _it worked_, you mean Marina showed up at the store this morning, you'd be right," Sandy huffed, catching her breath. "It wasn't even nine yet, we weren't anywhere near ready to open, when someone started banging on the door like they were going to break it down. So I went out to open it, and there she was."

"And then what happened?" Jared asked, walking her back to the shop front.

"Get this," Sandy sputtered excitedly. "Her hair was like a rat's nest – well, if rat nests were blue, anyway – and she looked like she'd slept in her clothes."

"The curse, did she say anything about the curse? Here, after you," Jared said, and opened the door, letting Sandy pass.

"Not in so many words," Jeff rumbled from behind the back counter. "Said something about _that dreadful boy_, and _vermin_, and that it was obvious we'd all had quite enough. And that she expected her tin of tea back, and you out of the apartment in a week or less, since she's not coming back to town ever again, for as long as she lives. So, kid, you want to explain exactly how you pulled that one off?"

"Nothing to explain," Jared shrugged sheepishly. "I set the mice on her. She really hates mice. They're vermin, they gnaw on her tealeaves, and they remind her of Sister Laurel. Also, they were pretty adamant about not wanting the exterminators to show up."

"The mice? How on earth did you get them to listen?"

"You remember that story I told you about the Great Mousy Battle of Underporch? Well, apparently the mice did, too. They gave me a medal," Jared said, blushing. "And I think I might be the Honorary Foreign Policy Advisor to Empress Squeak the Eleventh now, but don't quote me on that one."

"Wow," Sandy said. "That's really incredible. I – wow. I don't even know how to begin to thank you."

"You could help me haul all my stuff into Jeff's basement. Since I'm apparently homeless now. Evicted by the evil witch, out of spite? You know, I bet this never happened to Prince Charming. Or Prince Valiant. Or even Ivan the Fool."

"It did," someone said behind him, and Jared turned around.

"Baba Yaga threw Ivan out of her house on fifteen separate occasions. I think. It might have been sixteen," Jensen said shyly, shuffling in the entranceway. He looked a little weird without the silver earrings. Less like a dream and more like a guy who mixed mochas and cappuccinos at the coffee shop while working on his perpetual first novel in his spare time.

"Well, now that everything seems to have worked out OK, I should get going," Jared said, feeling his stomach do an awkwardly painful flip. "I, uh, need to get Chad out of the apartment before I lose my security deposit," he added uncertainly, tucking his arms close to himself so he wouldn't brush against Jensen as he went.

"You'll come back, after, though, right?" Sandy called after him. "We were going to have a little dinner thing, to celebrate. You can even bring Chad, if you want."

"Yeah, I'll tell him," Jared said quickly, shutting the shop door behind him, and ran for his truck.

He didn't know what exactly made him shrink away from Sandy's brother, keep away like there was an invisible barrier between them, electric fence circling the space around Jensen labeled _Danger, Keep Away_. There was no danger left, no ring on his finger, and Jensen wasn't leaning over him, one naked arm propping him up, muscles straining, the other pumping his dick maddeningly slow, slick and glistening with sweat and lube.

Not that he ever had.

"It wasn't real," Jared said out loud, the engine growling as he turned the key. "It wasn't even real. He never – we never – " except for in some strange ethereal space, the astral fucking plane or something else straight out of _Spirit Projection for Dummies_. _The Complete Idiot's Guide to Soul Screwing_.

"Soul screwing?" Chad said, waggling an eyebrow. "I can't even tell you in how many ways you're completely out of your gourd. Is the sleeping-boner gonna be at the dinner?"

"Don't call him that," Jared said, the words scraping unpleasantly into his skull. "I don't know. Yeah. Probably."

He was.

He was sitting in the extra chair wedged in to the right of Sandy's, Jeff flanking her on the left, the seats on the opposite side of the table left empty for Chad and Jared. It was the most awkward dinner of Jared's life, hands down, beating out even the time he brought Chad home to meet his parents and the party after his sixth grade graduation, the one where he threw up in his mama's lap.

It only got worse when they moved from the restaurant to The Beat, something Jared should have probably excused himself from, but didn't, unable to stop throwing what he hoped were subtle glances at Jensen's pink mouth working around his beer bottle, his fingers peeling at the label.

"Be right back," Jared said hoarsely, and stumbled his way across the bar to the narrow little hallway in the back, the one that led to the payphone, the bathrooms and the emergency exit. The payphone slot was jammed full of someone's gum, and the bathroom door screeched loudly when he pushed it open, the latch catching before finally giving way.

Jared splashed water on his face in the blessedly empty bathroom, looked in the mirror, and combed his wet hands through his hair reflexively trying to tame it down. As usual, his bangs refused to obey.

"Not a word," he told Mirror Jared before the latter could make a mocking face or stick out his tongue. Mirror Jared shrugged and ran his wet hands through his hair, too, absently smoothing down a cowlick.

The bathroom door opened behind him, but Jared was too busy with the paper towel dispenser to turn around and look right away. Maybe everything would have turned out differently if he had bothered, if he'd had some indication that Jensen was standing there, his back to the door, before he turned to go. But Jared didn't, so what happened sort of came as a surprise.

"Jared," Jensen said, so quiet it was almost a whisper, and Jared jumped, wet paper towel dropping to the floor.

Jared huffed an angry sigh, blowing the hair from his eyes as he bent to retrieve the scattered trail of paper towel. "How did you even know my name? Did Sandy tell you?" he asked thickly, and Jensen shook his head, digging at the floor with the toe of his sneaker.

"I know a lot. About you," he said without meeting Jared's eyes. He looked scared, uncertain, nothing like Jared was used to seeing from the dream, and the contrast felt like a punch to the gut, stealing his breath away.

He picked up the final end of his wayward paper towel and chucked it in the trash. Rinsed his hands in the sink, again, waiting for Jensen to say something else. To move. To do anything but stand there, restless, hands plucking at a loose thread from the hem of his black button-down.

"What?" Jared huffed out in exasperation when Jensen didn't. "What?"

Jensen's voice was so quiet Jared had to strain to hear the attempted "I'm sorry," and he felt another wave of anger crawling up the back of his throat. _Lied to. Taken advantage of_, the irate Chad-voice catalogued in his head. _Given it up to some guy who couldn't even be bothered to tell you he actually existed_.

"What are you sorry for?" he snapped. "Look at me; you owe that much, anyway."

"Everything," Jensen said, finally looking up from behind his wire-rimmed glasses. "I tried everything in my power not to take too much. Hoped every night that you'd stop wearing the ring. Would finally give it away." He blinked, lashes brushing specks of dust from his lens. "Dreaded you would."

"You could've told me," Jared rumbled, hands clenching into fists, nails digging into the meat of his palms like they wanted to taste iron. "All that time, and you let me find out when I stopped for a fucking coffee on the way to work."

"Tell you? How could I?"

"Easily. Could've picked up the phone, called your sister up any time, _hey, so, that guy I've been living off of, why'd you give him my ring? He someone you know?_ How the hell did she even end up with your ring in the first place?"

"I gave it to her," Jensen breathed out, looking down at the tiles again. "To keep. Made her promise she wouldn't let anyone wear it. Shouldn't have believed her when she swore she wouldn't."

"But you would have – " _died_, remained unsaid, heavy and glued to the roof of Jared's mouth.

"You're probably mad enough to punch me," Jensen said, sliding his glasses down his freckled nose and shoving them into a pocket. "It's what I would do. And look, I owe you – I owe you too much. So, if you're gonna – gonna do that, could you just get it over with?"

He breathed out a little worried laugh; later on, try as he might, Jared couldn't understand the next moment, couldn't think of a single reason the world moved in freeze frames, like a stop motion cartoon or the pages of a picture book. The snick of the door latching closed. Jensen's terrified smile and the way the crappy neon light made his skin look more yellow than tan, freckles standing out harshly against the rising blush in his cheeks. The little red indent of glasses on the bridge of his nose. His own fingers fluttering down Jensen's neck, soft, tentative, before he slammed Jensen back against the door, snaking up to grab at his hair. The sharp longing ache in his chest that sent his knee shoving in between Jensen's thighs, spreading them apart like he finally had the right.

Awake, Jensen's mouth didn't taste anything like sugar or coffee. He tasted like spit instead, maybe with a slight bitter tang of adrenaline or beer. Their clothes didn't vanish suddenly of their own accord, either, and Jared ripped at the buttons of Jensen's shirt with one hand, used the other to cradle the back of his skull as he pulled him in for a hungry kiss.

"Jensen," he mumbled as he finally wrenched Jensen's button-down apart, worked the tee shirt underneath over his head. He had to let go of Jensen to do it, half-surprised that Jensen didn't bolt, didn't fight, just tipped his head back and closed his eyes, trusting, as Jared pulled the thin cotton up, tossed it to the floor with Jensen's other shirt.

"You still have these," he stopped, surprised, fingers resting on the curve of Jensen's ribs. He pushed one finger against the thick, shiny ring threaded through Jensen's nipple. "Why the fuck do you still have these? The curse, it's done with, isn't it?" Jared demanded. Dragged a nail across Jensen's chest to the other nipple, leaving a pink line in his wake, grabbed a hold of the piercing, and tugged.

Jensen moaned.

"These have nothing to do with the – oh – curse. I had them done last year. I just like the way they feel," he said, and Jared tugged harder, felt Jensen's whole body shudder, watched Jensen's eyes roll back in his head.

He fumbled with Jensen's zipper like he'd forgotten how to work one – _never had to worry about it with him before_ – their teeth clacking together messily when he tried to catch Jensen's mouth again. No languid ebb and flow, no drugged, fantastic feeling; this was Jensen's dick in his hand, hot and far too real, dripping wet at the tip, and Jared gave up on classifying the differences.

"Gonna let me," he growled into Jensen's ear and closed his teeth on the delicate little lobe, dragged his tongue over the salty skin and then down, feeling the pulse rabbiting in Jensen's neck. His own heart was pounding against his ribs, quick, angry thumps that drowned out all other noise except for Jensen's little sighs and sobs, _oh, oh, oh_ as he skated his thumb over the head of Jensen's cock, spread the slick all around before squeezing his hand vise-tight.

"Oh, god," Jensen breathed out, hips jerking sharply forward, fucking up into Jared's grip, slick with sweat, and Jared's own dick was pushing at the inside of his jeans, rock hard and straining into the seam in sharp little twitches. He wedged his thigh firmer between Jensen's legs, felt the drag of rough cloth and the straining muscle beneath as he bucked forward and up.

"Wait, shit, Jared, wait," Jensen panted, but the sound of his name coming out of Jensen's mouth only made Jared move faster, hand frantically working Jensen's cock like he was going for a speed record. Momentarily, he felt Jensen's fingers brush up his before he was popping the buttons of his fly, sliding his hand inside, and Jared knew he was going to lose it in seconds when Jensen pulled at him as rough and as fast, with a familiar dirty twist of his wrist on the upstroke.

"Fuck, fuck," he chanted, balls so tight and full they almost ached with it, bright electric sparks dancing behind his eyelids. When had he closed his eyes, Jared wondered, the world narrowed down to his dick and Jensen's, their hands, bumping against each other, whines and whimpers rising into moans he couldn't begin tell apart, even though he knew that some of them, needy and broken, must have been coming from him. Jensen jerked against him, shivered, and then he was coming, spilling warm into Jared's hand, thick pulses with each jerk of his hips. Jared leaned forward, pressed his face into Jensen's shoulder and bit down, hard, felt the muscle jump and roll between his teeth.

His own orgasm surprised him, knees buckling, the sparks rising up in a sudden bright wave, and he rode it out in long, loose breaths, letting his body slump against Jensen's.

When it was over, he opened his eyes. Jensen looked wrecked, nothing of the dream left in him at all, sweaty hair plastered to his forehead, mouth dark and swollen and wet, red jagged traces of Jared's nails crisscrossing all over his chest. Jared was afraid to look in the mirror as he stepped towards the sink and turned the knob, washed Jensen's come away and splashed more cold water onto his heated face.

Someone was banging on the bathroom door, _come on, hurry up, unlock it, I gotta go, the hell are you doing in there_, and Jared's heart lurched into his throat, stomach flipping sickly. He covered his mouth with a shaking hand, the other already pulling open the door latch, pushing past the people waiting towards the emergency exit at the back of the hallway. He twisted at the metal handle, feeling it give way as the alarm began to howl, and fled, leaving Jensen still there in the bathroom and barely sparing a thought for the rest of them in the bar.

On the way to his truck, Jared turned off his phone, and didn't end up turning it back on until almost a week later, when the stern pre-recorded voice informed him that there were thirty-three messages waiting for him on his voicemail. Jared shrugged, and turned the cell phone back off again. By then, he was in Florida already, having packed a suitcase the moment he'd gotten home from The Beat, taken a leave of absence from work and called the New Exeter Travel Agency the very next morning. That afternoon, he was on a plane out of Logan headed for Punta Gorda.

"I broke up with Chad," he explained when his mama opened the door, eyes widening in surprise. "And I might be looking for a new job, too," he added, and set his suitcase down.

"Oh, honey. But you were so happy – don't just stand there, come in, come in – what happened?"

"I think I outgrew it," Jared sighed, and let her direct him into the guest room, clucking about needing to pick up more groceries all the while.

"I'll get your father to go to the Shop 'n' Save when he gets back with the dogs," she nodded. "And to that bakery around the corner. What do you want for dinner, steak or chicken?"

"The dogs?"

"Oh, your father fed me some ridiculous story about kids and seagulls stealing fish from his bucket. Said we needed a pair of guard dogs if we wanted to keep having fresh seafood every week. I think he just saw them down at the Rescue and wanted an excuse to bring them home, but don't tell him I said that."

"I won't," Jared promised. The dogs turned out to be large, friendly yellow mutts who wove around his legs, bumped their heads into his knees under the dinner table and whined pitifully, begging for any bit of human food they could get.

He spent a week with his parents, fishing off the dock and eating orange tarts and banana fritters from the bakery, throwing a Frisbee with the dogs on the nearby beach. Mulched the flowerbeds for his mother, helped his father with seven crossword puzzles from a large, one-a-day book he'd bought from the lone gift shop of the Punta Gorda airport.

On the sixth night, he dreamt of Jensen, knowing right away it wasn't a ring dream, just an average, garden-variety REM sleep, the two of them skipping down Main Street together, holding hands and stomping in puddles.

"I know so much about you," Dream Jensen said, the reflection of sky splashing under his feet, shattering into a myriad glistening droplets.

"You don't know a thing," Jared told him, but it felt like a lie even after he woke up, suddenly wanting to see Jensen more than he'd ever wanted to see anyone in the whole waking world.

  
**Epilogue**

In the end, he went to The Amber Moon first.

"Look at you, all tanned," Sandy said, pushing open the beaded curtain. She was looking at him cautiously, as if unsure if she could smile.

"You look good, too, Sands," Jared said, smiling for her, and watched her whole face light up.

"I have crows feet. And I found a gray hair yesterday morning."

"I lied. You look great," he said, meaning it. She was wearing a new pair of earrings, delicate gold filigree threaded through with little drops of amber, and there was a gold ring on her finger as well, inset with a stone that looked surprisingly like a diamond.

"Does that mean what I think it means?"

"Sort of," Jeff said, poking his head out of the back room. "Thought we told you it was complicated."

"Complicated? But I thought I fixed that. I know I did," Jared said, and Sandy shook her head.

"Nothing to fix, Jay. Turns out that really works for us, you know? We were actually thinking of starting up a New Exeter chapter of the World Polyamory Society."

"Huh. OK. Town board might not be too happy, but they'll get over it. Are donations tax-deductible?"

"Of course," Jeff said. "Is that a photo album under your arm there?"

"Vacation pictures," Jared nodded. "From my parents' new place down in Florida."

"Well, let's see 'em. Go ahead; set it right down on the counter. Wow, did you catch that fish all by yourself?"

"Dad did, actually. This is the dock. That's the neighbors' boat. That's mom's newly mulched flowerbed, right before Sadie dug it back up again."

"Sadie?"

"One of their dogs. This one with the floppy ears is Harley."

Sandy looked up at him expectantly, fingering the corner of the picture in which Harley had his whole face stuck into the fish bucket, Sadie's teeth latching onto his tail.

"What?"

"These are really nice pictures," she said. "Looks like you had a good time."

"I did," Jared agreed. "Just what I needed."

Sandy nodded. "Tell me about it."

"I just did."

"_Tell me about it_," Sandy repeated. "Come on. Tell me a story. What happened here? What about this one?" she said, turning the page.

"You really wanna hear it?" he asked incredulously, and Jeff and Sandy nodded, answering as one.

"Yeah. I do."

"OK," Jared said, feeling the tension he hadn't known was there drain out of his limbs. "Once upon a time, there was a fisherman who went out on his boat every morning, and took his two dogs along."

Two hours later, Jared was back in his truck, heading for the other side of town. He slowed down to cross the train tracks, and circled North Summit Street twice before finally finding a parking space across the street from Eight Ball.

There was a big red banner on what used to be The Coffee Beanery. _Grounded – Open For Business_, it read in large block letters, with a modest postscript below adding, _Under New Management_. The shop still smelled the same, like melted sugar and warm spices, and Jared inhaled greedily as he waited in line, searching his pockets for extra change out of habit.

"What can I get – oh. Um. Hi," Jensen said awkwardly, shuffling behind the register. The little crinkles in the corners of his eyes had deepened slightly, and it seemed he'd skipped shaving a few mornings in a row. He badly needed a haircut, dark bangs grown floppy and long over the frames of his glasses.

He looked beautiful.

"Hi. I'm Jared Padalecki," Jared said, holding his hand out across the counter. Jensen looked at it cautiously for a moment, before reaching out to shake.

"Jensen Ackles. I think you might be friends with my sister."

"I am. Listen, the other night, I had a really crazy dream about this guy who works in a coffee shop," Jared said, and took a deep breath. "And I think I want to have it again."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Jared nodded. "Except I think I want to maybe take him out to dinner, first. Have a chance to talk. Really get to know him. I don't have any golden apples or magic rings, but I was hoping maybe he'd say yes, anyway."

"I think he will," Jensen said, and smiled. "I mean, uh. Yes. Dinner would be nice. I get off at seven."

THE END.

**And they lived happily ever after until the end of their days.**


End file.
